


Buffy - Return of the Vampire Slayer

by WillowFromBuffy



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 58,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowFromBuffy/pseuds/WillowFromBuffy
Summary: The slayers activated by Willow fight a terrible war against vampires, demons and dark sorcerers. Just as the vampires are almost exterminated, something starts to happen. The slayers all lay down their arms and assume regular lives. Buffy quits the Scoobies and marries a man named Matt.More than 20 years later, the vampires return. Buffy has just left her husband. Xander has become an addict and hasn't been heard from in years. Willow went missing in South America long ago. Giles is back in Englad. Angel is human. Spike is slumbering in a tomb, waiting to be awoken by the final apocalypse.Can our heroes come together to fight the coming darkness? Will Buffy and Spike become lovers again? Who caused the return of the vampires? What made the slayers lose their power and their will to fight? Who the hell is Matt?





	1. Prologue - Hell's Bells Revisited

### Prologue - Hell's Bells Revisited

2006 - Three years after  _Chosen_  
  
Before Buffy woke up to the first day of the rest of her life, she had a dream. This was not a premonitory dream. She dreamt of the past. One morning, she had sat in the kitchen of Matt’s house looking through the job advertisements in the newspaper. Suddenly, the door had flown off its hinges and Willow had stormed in, carrying the scythe. Willow did not really break down the door, nor did she actually carry the scythe with her. This only happened in the dream, because dreams like to emphasise and embellish.  
  
Willow was angry. Willow was often angry. This particular morning, Willow was angry, because she had just learnt that Buffy had given her scythe to Kennedy.  
  
“You said you weren’t leaving,” Willow shouted.  
  
“Don’t you think Kennedy can take my place?” Buffy asked. “You and her are still ..?”  
  
“That is not the issue. Of course, she took it personal when I reacted like I did, but she does not  _understand_ ,” Willow raved, “and neither do  _you!”_  
  
“Maybe this time I should tell you why I  _really_ did it, instead of just yelling back at you,” dream-Buffy said to dream-Willow.  
  
“I don’t want to hear it,” Willow said, just as she did before.  
  
“Why does this matter so much to you?” dream-Buffy asked.  
  
Dream-Willow seemed to realise that Buffy was no longer reading from the script, but she did not answer. At least, Buffy did not remember an answer when she woke up. It did not take long before she forgot the entire dream. There was so much to worry about for today. Hair needed to be done, a dress needed to be put on. Today was the day that Buffy married Matt. Who is Matt, you ask? So did Xander. And so did Willow. And so did most of Buffy’s other old friends. The answer was not as interesting as they had suspected. Matt was a good catch by any standard, except maybe slayer-standard, but then Buffy was not a slayer anymore.  
  
The ceremony was beautiful. The maid of honour looked a little distant, except for a moment when Buffy thought she could glimpse the old giddy Willow. Matt said his vows without stumbling his words. He took Buffy by the hand and walked down the aisle without shivering under the large crucifix that hung from the ceiling. He did not spontaneously combust when they stepped out into the sun.  
  
There were no family to greet Buffy on the steps. Mother was dead. Father had missed too many ice ring dates. Sister was … Did Buffy have a sister? She could not remember. The planning of the wedding had been such hard work. She may have forgotten a few of the invitations. Giles was there. He had been the one giving her away – away from the Scoobies and into a new life of domestic bliss. He cried. Of course, he cried. And Buffy cried, too. Most of the photos were ruined.  
  
Then it was a bit of a blur. Camera flashes, handshakes and hugs. She ran into Willow just before the reception was about to start. Willow had arrived only yesterday, so the two had not had the time to properly speak. They hugged. It was the fifth or sixth time they hugged today. This time it was a little tighter, because they were practically alone. Buffy even felt Willow’s nails bite into her exposed shoulders. Luckily, Willow kept them short. When they pulled back from each other, Willow’s eyes were swollen.  
  
“I … yes … good!” Willow held up both her thumbs. “Congratulations! Once more, this time with… yes!”  
  
“Thank you,” Buffy said. “Hopefully it won’t be long before I will get to be there for you at your special day.”  
  
“That won’t happen until long after the winds of change stop blowing backwards,” Willow mumbled.  
  
“Sorry,” Buffy apologized. “My foot still lives in my mouth. My mouth and my new Cinderella shoes.”  
  
Willow blinked.  
  
Buffy tried to keep the conversation moving. “Speaking of which, where is Kennedy?” she asked. “I did not see her.”  
  
Willow looked away. “In New York … or somewhere … engaged to be married to some famous real estate mogul with bad hair.”  
  
Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Kennedy … is … engaged!?”  
  
“I’d rather not talk about it.”  
  
“To a man?"  
  
“A lot of things have surprised me lately,” Willow mumbled. “None of them good.”  
  
“Well, from one uncomfortable subject to another. Will you be able to take care of Xander tonight?”  
  
“Xander is better,” Willow insisted. “I will still be transmuting his wine into water. And he will be scowling at me as though he suspects. I never manage to get the taste quite right.”  
  
“I am sorry,” Buffy said. “It is just…”  
  
Willow held up her hands. “I know,” she said. “And Xander knows. He will behave himself.” She sighed. “I cannot pretend like I don’t know what he is going through, though. Neither of us believed the Slayer would retire before her slayerettes.”  
  
Buffy folded her arms. “There is nothing left to slay.”  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. “That is just semantics.”  
  
“No,” Buffy said. “That is facts.”  
  
“Facts, schmacts,” Willow mumbled.  
  
“What are you even still doing?” Buffy asked, referring to the remains of the Scooby/Slayer-group.  
  
Willow grimaced. “We’re doing … stuff. It is not like the world is all perfect just because the demon population is down.” She sighed. “Xander is not doing much of anything. I need to remember to send him a gold watch in the mail.”  
  
“You’re not turning the slayers into that college Wicca group with the bake sales and the vagina monologues?”  
  
“Na-ha,” Willow protested. “You are being very unfair. You should come down and check up on us. We are still relevant.”  
  
Buffy laughed. “I will drop by the office once Matt and I are back in the country, just to make sure you are keeping out of trouble.” She put a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “Are you ready to dance and eat cake? And for your speech?”  
  
Willow grabbed Buffy’s arm. “Don’t go just yet,” she said. “I have something to tell you, but I am not sure if I should.”  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow.  
  
Willow looked anxious. “It may be bad timing, but you would probably want to know, and I am not sure when I will get the chance.” She sighed. “Just know that I did not plan to spring this on you.”  
  
Buffy laughed. “Out with it, Willow.”  
  
“Angel has asked me to help him,” Willow said. “The Powers That Be contacted him…”  
  
“I am sure you, him and Faith can solve this little job without me…”  
  
“It is not a job,” Willow said. “They’re retiring him.”  
  
Now Buffy grimaced. “Which means?”  
  
“He’s been pardoned. And he has asked me to play the role of fairy godmother and turn him into a real boy.”  
  
“Oh…”  
  
A silence ensued. Buffy felt a surge of emotions well up inside her. Willow looked at Buffy discerningly, as if she was trying to gauge her reaction.  
  
“Give him my best,” Buffy managed. “Even if he has failed to give me his.”  
  
Willow’s eyes widened. “Oh, that was supposed to be my job.” She smacked her forehead. “There should be a floral thingy with a card on the table somewhere. Real gaudy. Made me forget Harmony is not his secretary any longer.”  
  
Buffy frowned. “I did not see it.”  
  
“I’m under so much pressure,” Willow explained. “There is the speech I have to hold and the ritual I have to prepare.  _I_  run what’s left of the slayers. There is no one else left. Soon, I will be babysitting Andrew all by myself.” She sighed. “It is probably up in my room or somewhere. Maybe I asked Xander to bring it.”  
  
Buffy laughed. “Forget about the flowers, Will. And forget about Andrew. Nobody says you have to  _babysit_  him.”  
  
Willow looked sad. “Well, Andrew is the only one still willing to put in any effort. That is why I tried to talk Angel out of it…”  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Talk Angel out of becoming human? Why?”  
  
“Because pretty soon I will be the only super-hero left. Willow the Friendly Neighbourhood Wicca with her annoying cheerleading man-child.”  
  
“Then why don’t you retire, yourself?”  
  
Willow grabbed a champagne glass. Not really to drink, it seemed, but rather to have something in her hands. “I don’t know,” she said, spinning the glass around slowly. “To do what?”  
  
Buffy did not answer. She had not planned to spend the day giving career advice to old friends.  
  
“So you are not concerned about Angel becoming human?” Willow asked.  
  
“No, should I be?” Buffy asked in the most indifferent voice she could muster.  
  
“Not even if the ritual to turn him was a sex-rite?”  
  
Buffy shot Willow a look that was so fierce it made the Wiccan take several steps backwards, almost tripping in her long dress.  
  
“It is not a sex rite,” Willow admitted. “Although I might have to take him to Las Vegas afterwards just to check that his soul is stable.”  
  
“I am not coming home from my honeymoon just to kill Angelus,” Buffy said in mock threat. “If you mess this up, you have to call Andrew for help.”  
  
The hall behind them was starting to crowd up.  
  
“We should probably go inside,” Willow said.  
  
“Just a moment.” Buffy took Willow’s hands in hers. “Thank you,” she said, “for giving me the chance to have this day.  
  
“You’re making my eyes puffy, Buffy,” Willow said. “I cannot take all the credit for us still being here, can I?” She waved her hand to magically summon a tissue from the table.  
  
“Do you think you will be able to get along with Matt’s family and friends?” Buffy asked as they walked towards the rest of the gathering party. “It will be a long night for you with only Xander and Giles.”  
  
“They’re all Republicans,” Willow complained.  
  
“I think there are some Democrats on his mother’s side."  
  
“That’s just as bad.”  
  
They parted ways. Buffy walked over to Matt and his grandmother. She looked and saw Willow approaching Xander and Giles. There were five empty champagne glasses on the table beside Xander.


	2. Midlife

**Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:**  
  
“Strong is fighting! It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day. It's what we have to do.”  
  
“You screw a vampire just to feel!”  
  
“We can do it together. But if you're too much of a coward for that, then burn!”  
  
“You came back wrong!”  
  
“You thought she'd say thanks. Be more grateful.”  
  
“Would I be a terrible person if I said yes?”  
  
“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”  
  
“This can't be me, this isn't me.”  
  
“They don't see the weak ones lost in the night. And the things that prey on them. And if I joined them, maybe I'd stop seeing too.”  
  


### Chapter 1 - Midlife

  
After the wedding, time started to move faster. Buffy and Matt spent their honeymoon travelling to and fro their hotel room. Two days after coming home, Buffy peed on a stick. For the second time in less than three weeks, her life changed irrevocably. The year after, she delivered Robert to the world. Robert, because no sane person names their child Rupert. Buffy and Bobby. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone, but love is fickle. Once little William arrived, he stole his mother’s heart completely and refused to let it go.  
  
Monday hit hard. Matt insisted he could support the family by himself, which was almost true, so Buffy spent the next few years at home. Shopping for four on a budget, keeping the floors of a tiny house sanitised for crawling explorers and making sure her two mutineers got enough sleep turned out to be a full time job and more. Finally finding the time for socialising with other adults was a relief, but Buffy discovered that her topics of conversation had narrowed somewhat. Not that it mattered much. Everyone around her was in the same boat, except older people, who liked to smile knowingly.  
  
The days, weeks and years passed in a blur. Every year brought new challenges, but there was a paradoxical feeling of monotony. The trivialities ganged up on the big stuff. Every important event was tainted by petty arguments that started and ended on the same day. It got a little better once Buffy started working, which is not to say that getting back to work was not a traumatic experience. Getting up early every morning to get the spawn ready for delivery at the local government indoctrination facility, because Matt still made the most money and needed rest the most. Then there was the train journey downtown. Then followed 8 hours of smiling to co-workers and costumers. The train back. Pick up two tired and hyperactive children. Dinner. TV. Sleep. Repeat.  
  
Groceries, dinners, tax statements, school report cards, broken windshield, new kitchen, football practice, new kit, student band, trumpet, saxophone, tuba, drums, guitar, sewing circle, Christmas cards, Hanukah card? address?, trashed living room, underage drinking, pregnancy scare, braces, new washing machine, rainy summer, uninspired birthday gift, no raise, new job, no fun, bad back, headache, mother-in-law, school board, bake sale … SMACK!  
  
When Matt slapped Buffy across her left cheek with his right palm, time slowed down to regular speed again. It was difficult to adjust to such a violent stop after 21 years of fast forwarding. Buffy flexed her muscles in an attempt to stop her arms from shaking. She did not want Matt to see how upset she was. Her heart beat fast. The paint on the wall seemed to be of a sharper colour. Her instincts screamed for her to hit back. It was not as if it would have been the first time she had hit a boyfriend across the jaw, but this time she could have broken her wrist.  
  
“Get out,” Buffy said in a menacing whisper. She slowly looked up to meet Matt’s gaze. Matt did not know that Buffy had stuck a knife into the gut of her friend and he did not know that she had strangled a demon with a metal wire. But that moment, Matt saw something in Buffy’s eyes that she had never showed him before. He left without protesting.  
  
He came back. Of course, he came back. One evening after work, he was just there, as if nothing had happened. Why not? It was his house, he told her. He had not come to torment her nor to trivialise her feelings. He wanted her back. He wanted to put this argument to rest, like all the others from before. The children had left the nest. They could talk now. Properly talk. They could date. Heck, they could even go on holiday together. He was sorry for hitting her, but did he really hit her? It was a slap with an open palm. No permanent mark. Who would even believe it? He realised it was unfair to bring violence into an argument. Of course, he did, but she had hurt him in ways she could not fathom. Why was every kindness ignored and every mistake such a big deal?  
  
One day, Buffy waited for Matt to leave for work, called in sick, made a substantial withdrawal from the modest savings in their joint bank account, called a cab and drove as many of her possessions as she could to a new rented apartment. The house in which she had lived longer than any other place, where her children had grown up, was no longer her home.  
  
Once she was secure in her new place, Buffy’s first thought was on her two sons. They did not know about the recent argument. Once Matt got home, he would likely dig up his tomahawk, so it was best if she was the one to break it to them. Buffy called Bobby first and William second, arranging to meet both of them in the same café at different times.  
  
Buffy was nervous, but she needed not have been. Bobby took it surprisingly well – almost insultingly well. Most of his friends’ parents were divorced. It was not as if he had not considered that his own parents would possibly one day separate. Buffy was both relieved and oddly disappointed. She told Bobby how living with Matt had often been difficult, but that she had stuck it out, because she wanted a stable environment for Bobby and his baby brother. Bobby listened patiently to all she had to say as he ate the food she had bought him with the money she did not have because the deposit would force her onto credit cards before the month was over. Once Buffy was done talking, Bobby told her about his life. He pretended to do well in his studies, he told her about his new job and about his new girlfriend. Buffy was oddly prideful that her son was a bit of a ladies’ man, but she made sure he behaved himself better than Parker had done.  
  
Once Bobby left, Buffy had half an hour to wait before her date with William. It gave her time to reflect. It made sense for Bobby to take it so well. He was not as sensitive as William was. She braced herself for meeting her youngest. If he cried, so would she.  
  
William did not cry. In fact, he seemed smugly pleased. Buffy knew that while Bobby had always been Matt’s first-born little boy, William had been mostly hers. What she had not realised was how much William had started to resent his father. So much, in fact, that she caught herself coming to Matt’s defence. She did not want to become one of those bitter mothers who drew a wedge between her children and their father. It seemed as if she would not have to.  
  
So, both her boys went back to their adult lives without crying and without feeling traumatised from learning their parents did not love each other any longer. Buffy walked back to her apartment, hugging herself for warmth. The bus did not go this late and a cab was too expensive.  
  
Buffy spent the night looking at old photographs. First, she looked at pictures from Bobby and William’s childhood, then from her own. Hundreds of pictures of little Buffy by herself or with her mum. The only child. There were no pictures of friends. All her pictures from her years at Sunnydale High lay at the bottom of a crater. The pictures she had of her youth were from her father. Was she now starting to feel what Hank had felt for so many years? No, that could not be. She was her mother’s daughter, not his, and she would remain a mother to her sons, no matter what it took. Still, she felt a kinship in abandonment.  
  
A photograph fell out of a box. Buffy picked it up. It was a polaroid of Angel. Where was it from? She remembered owning a polaroid camera in High School, but how had the picture survived? She had no memory of the particular picture. Angel was ageless, so it was impossible to date it. Perhaps she had packed it in her bag before the assault on the Hellmouth. Nevertheless, it was now her single memento from those years. It brought with it a flood of memories of Angel, Willow, Xander, Giles, her mother … even Faith.  
  
Buffy held the picture up to the light. It was almost as if it was coming alive. Angel’s smooth skin became wrinkled. His brow furrowed. A pair of fangs gleamed. Buffy heard a voice in her head. “No friends, no weapons, no money, no husband, no children, no hope, no vampire boyfriend. Take all that away, and what’s left?”  
  
“Me,” Buffy responded, just as she did last time, but this time she did not catch the sword. It hit its target and pierced her heart. Tears bled down her cheeks and her body was convulsing uncontrollably. She had not cried since the day she gave birth to William. When she was young, she had cried often. Every Tuesday, in fact. She did not know why she had stopped, but it turned out her body remembered.  
  
Anyway, there she lay, amidst boxes of stuff and cartons of Chinese food. All of her life packed into 500 square feet. The first slayer to survive into middle age. Forgotten by the world. Laid to rest, but no peacefully.

 


	3. Reunion Revisited

### Chapter 2 - Reunion Revisited

  
This was a dream. It was not the dreamers dream. The person whose dream it was had been destroyed, as if she had never existed at all. The dreamer was a trespasser, travelling through memories of a life that was not her own. The dream did not matter to the dreamer. She did not understand why she dreamt this particular dream, and as the dreamer was not conscious, she was unable to reflect further into the possible cause.  
  
In the dream, the dreamer or the person whose dream it was or whose dream it had once been was standing in front of a room of the dreamer’s fellow students.  
  
“In this lecture,” the dreamer stammered, “I am going to talk about the inevitable thermodynamic equilibrium our universe will indubi … ta-leeh … inevitably experience.”  
  
The other students were shifting in their seats. It was Friday afternoon. Most of them had already held their first lecture. They were anxious to get out and enjoy their weekends.  
  
The dreamer removed her glasses. She used all her fingers when she pulled them off, as if she was wearing gloves. Her hand shook. “Imagine a room that is closed off,” she said. “No air passes through the walls.”  
  
“Like this one,” one of the other students shouted from the back. Everyone laughed. Even the dreamer laughed.  
  
“A battery,” the dreamer continued. “A battery powers a frying pan. The frying pan becomes warm and heats up the bacon. Some of the warmth spreads into the room. You eat the bacon and receive sustenance. This energies your body. The energy passes into new forms, but eventually it will pass into forms that are useless. The battery will run out, making it impossible to heat the frying pan. All the bacon will be eaten and it cannot be eaten again once it has been … digested and excreted.”  
  
The crowd groaned. This had to be the worst of the student lectures so far.  
  
The dreamer composed herself and kept going, but she had forgotten where she put her glasses, and it had become almost impossible for her to read her notes. Her eyes were tearing up from the strain. She did not dare look for her glasses, because she feared the crowd would laugh if she started searching for them.  
  
“Some scholars of … er … the humanities have developed their own theory of cultural thermodynamics.” This was a terrible save, and the dreamer knew it. “Physics is dependent on the sun. Likewise, culture is dependent on sun-like people. Alexander the Great, Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Shakespeare, Aphra Behn. These people power our culture. With each generation, there are fewer of them. The different cultures are becoming more and more similar. Eventually, we will have cultural heat death or an equilibrium of … numbing silence.”  
  
The dreamer kept dreaming its stolen dream, unaware that someone was invading the space in which the dreamer slept. The rock placed before the dreamer’s tomb was removed and an invader crept down the stairs to the dreamer’s crypt. The invader’s naked feet threaded silently on the dust, so that the dreamer would not wake prematurely.  
  
The invader saw two sarcophaguses before her. “You are a whited sepulchre, you are,” the invader said to the first sarcophagus, before moving on to the second one. Her fingers traced the edge of the lid through the dust. The sound of a lock opening echoed in the crypt. She threw the lid against the wall. There was a woman inside, even more waiflike than the invader was. Her hair was brown. No, it was not. It was bright blue. This was both the dreamer and the remains of the woman whose dream was being dreamt.  
  
The tomb raider straddled the sleeping beauty, before bending forward to give her a kiss on the neck. The dreamer opened her eyes and moaned, but she did not rise. Her strength ebbed out of her, along with her blood.  
  
The crypt did not look so dark anymore. The invader could see more clearly. She wiped her mouth and licked her fingers. The lid on the remaining sarcophagus did not feel as heavy as the one she had already opened. The invader lifted it with even more ease.  
  
In this one, a man was sleeping. He had long blonde hair, the edges of which were white. His cheeks were covered by uneven stubble. An old scar split one of his eyebrows. The invader laughed. She lifted her wrist to her mouth and sank her fangs into her arteries. Blood gushed out. She pressed the wound against the man’s mouth. His eyes sprang open. He grabbed the woman’s arm with both of his hands and drank deeply from it.  
  
“You’re in trouble now,” the invader whispered.  
  
“Dru?”  
  
The man grabbed the woman’s neck with his hands and pulled her face towards his own. She leapt gracefully into the sarcophagus with him. They kissed. Their spit had the salty iron taste of both the dreamer and the invader’s blood. They used their teeth to pull at each other’s lips … so hard that it hurt, until more blood came forth.  
  
“Is it really you this time, Dru?”  
  
“Maybe, baby”  
  
The man felt his face with his hands. “I must look terrible. How long has it been?”  
  
“All sleep and no play makes Spike a dull boy!”  
  
Spike laughed. Bloodied tears streamed down his face. Drusilla’s joined in with her shrill cackling. They held each other tightly. For a moment, everything seemed perfect, but when Spike kissed Drusilla again, a look of horrible realisation came across his face. He tried to get up, but Drusilla held him down.  
  
“Let me out, Dru!”  
  
“What’s your hurry, Spikey, after being locked inside for so long?”  
  
“What did you do to Fred?”  
  
“Fred went poof long ago!”  
  
“To Illyria. What did you do to Illyria?”  
  
“I drank from a sun,” Drusilla said. “They hid all the suns inside a temple, away from the world. I needed to taste it. Turn it into a moon.”  
  
Spike pushed past Drusilla and climbed out of his coffin. His limbs were stiff. Drusilla’s blood was only slowly flowing into his muscles, giving them back some of their old strength. The sight that met him was horrible. Fred’s body was completely mangled. Drusilla was a messy eater.  
  
“What gave you the right?” Spike shouted at Dru.  
  
“What gave you the right to hide?” Drusilla said. “A sun and a star hiding from a dying world. Not fair. Not fair at all. It is time to come back, before it is too late. Or else the world will not be able to fry its bacon any longer.”  
  
Spike sat down on the floor. “We were waiting,” he said. “When the Apocalypse came, we would rise together and save the world.”  
  
“You were waiting for screams,” Drusilla said, “but none would have come. It would have ended with a final pathetic whimper, and you would not have been awake to hear it.”  
  
“Why are you here?” Spike said. “Leave me alone!”  
  
Drusilla laughed. “I am here to make everyone scream again, of course.” She pulled Spike up by his neck. “Before they croak on their smugness.”  
  
We move in time and space. About a week forward in time. An unknown distance in space. To Los Angeles. A man was struggling to parallel park his car. He was of an impatient disposition. Several times, he had to drive out from his chosen spot and try again. His fingers were itching. He was already very late.  
  
A few blocks down, a woman lit a cigarette. She was waiting for another man, whom she would endeavour to hurt and humiliate as much as this man had hurt and humiliated his wife. The task was impossible, but she had all night and the wife paid well. She was going to try her best. There was a spray can and a flame wand in her purse.  
  
Two people were sharing a meal at a restaurant. They were waiting for the man with the car, but he was still far away. An ex-cop and an ex-vampire. Both had been better people than most of their kin.  
  
“I think it is time we took a holiday together,” Angel said. “How many years have we been together? How many times have we been outside the city?”  
  
“I am working on a case,” Kate answered sourly. “The kid really needs my help.”  
  
“Can’t Gunn assign it to someone else?” Angel groaned. “No one else in that firm can possibly work as hard as you. You need a break.”  
  
“I don’t need a break,” Kate said. “You, however, need something to do. Something else than working in a museum.” She took a deep sip of her wine. “Do the visitor realise that you would be better on a display than as a guide.”  
  
Angel dropped his fork and knife. “Please, calm down. Connor will be her soon.”  
  
Kate shot him an angry look. “Then get off my case. We are not going on holiday and we are not moving out into the fucking country.”  
  
“Don’t you think we have earned a little peace?” Angel said with a sigh. “We are not going to live forever.”  
  
Kate emptied her wineglass. “You have earned nothing,” she said. “You set a demon army loose upon Los Angeles. A dragon was eating people. Never mind that you had the opportunity to work inside the system, make things better. You had to have your big moment, and some snotty higher plane spirits decided you had earned a reward.”  
  
Angel crossed his arms. “I only did what I had to do. Gunn was right there with me.”  
  
“But like I have told you countless times before, you didn’t stick around to deal with the fallout. When BLM marched through the city last year, it was the first legal human rights demonstration in over 20 years.”  
  
Angel snickered. “Is it my fault that people cannot tell the difference between a demon apocalypse and a turf war?”  
  
“This isn’t funny, Angel,” Kate said. “People were hurt and all you care about is saving money for a fucking house by the sea, which you are never going to get, because you are too much of a layabout.” Her voice was shaking. “Do you know why I got back in touch with you? Gunn wanted me to try to convince you to get involved again. I tried, I failed, I didn’t give up and somehow we ended up in bed together, because both of us thought they could get the other to give up what mattered to them.”  
  
Angel looked away. “It is kinda harsh to hear you sum it up like that.”  
  
Kate turned her attention towards her food. After a long day working for Gunn’s non-profit law firm, she could not pass up a meal. Angel was no longer hungry, but for some reason, he felt an urge to grab a fortune cookie from a recently abandoned table nearby.  
  
“Look at this,” he said, passing the little note to Kate. “’Sometimes your arms bend backwards.’ Isn’t that weird?”  
  
Kate stood up. “I am leaving,” she declared. “Say hi to Connor from me!”  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
That was not Connor’s voice. Angel felt the blood in his veins freeze.  
  
“Daddy, is it true? Is Dru finally going to meet her baby brother?”  
  
Drusilla stepped towards the table, wearing the same Chinese dress as the waitresses. The costumers were all looking at Angel and Kate. The look on all their faces had turned somewhat … demonic.  
  
“Grandmother came to me in a dream,” Drusilla said. “’Take care of your uncle,’ she told me, and so I came to look for my brother.”  
  
Angel tried to rise from his seat, but somebody grabbed his wrists and, with unnatural strength, locked his arms behind his back. “Drusilla, don’t do this,” he shouted impotently.  
  
Drusilla laughed. “Or what? Only daddy can stop me.” She put her thin fingers on Kate’s neck. “And you are not my dad anymore.”  
  
“We’re by a crowded street,” Angel said. “People can see through the window and call the police down. You won’t be able to escape.”  
  
“Is this uncle’s new mummy?” Drusilla mused. “Or maybe his niece? I cannot tell anymore.” She punctured Kate’s throat with a fingernail.  
  
Angel screamed with rage.  
  
Drusilla laughed, opened her dress and cut a long wound parallel to her collarbone. “Do you want to be daddy again?” she asked. “If so, I will give you a twin sister.” She picked the collapsed Kate up from the floor and hugged her to her bosom.  
  
Angel looked away. He could not bear to watch. The last thing he saw before passing out was Connor and Faith storming through the doors and Faith hurling a flaming shish kabob at one of the vampires.


	4. Sanctuary Revisited

### Chapter 3 - Sanctuary Revisited

Two days after the vampire attack in Los Angeles, in the apartment where our vampire slayer had taken sanctuary.  
  
There was knock on the door. Buffy pulled her face up from the floor. She peeled something off her cheek that had glued itself to her sweaty skin. It was a picture of Xander eating wedding cake. It seemed like she had rolled off her matrass. The boxes loomed over her like towers. Pieces of a take away carton lay scattered all around her. The noodles were all stuck in her hair.  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
That voice. It was a voice from long ago. It took her away from her present circumstance. She sprang to her feet and pulled up the door. Her arms flung themselves around Angel. In her excitement, she did not notice that he looked older and that his eyes were red and baggy from lack of sleep. When their lips met, she was kissing the same Angel that used to climb in through her bedroom window.  
  
“Back off, B. His recently made undead girlfriend is still fresh on those lips.”  
  
It was Faith speaking.  
  
“I am sorry,” she continued. “Was that rude? I have forgotten how to act in polite company.” She glanced inside Buffy’s apartment. “My mistake. You are clearly not a part of polite society.”  
  
Buffy pulled away from Angel, who crossed his arms and scowled down at Faith. “Could you perhaps spare the insults until after we have asked for help?” he asked her.  
  
Faith shot him a poisonous stare. “Who are we asking for help again? This person? I didn’t even look this bad when I was on heroin.”  
  
“This is how the first day after my separation begins,” Buffy said. “My ex-boyfriend brings a former murderer and junkie to my home. Matt will enjoy telling this to his divorce lawyer.”  
  
Faith rolled her eyes. “We met Matt. Bit of a prat.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened. “Does he know where I am already? How?”  
  
Faith smiled. “We found that out from Bobby.”  
  
Buffy glared at Angel. “You took this wretch to see my son?”  
  
“Opened the door with no shirt on,” Faith said. “Would have invited myself in, but his bed was already occupied. Might have to call you Granny B, soon.”  
  
Buffy did not tell her fist to hit Faith in the nose. It went there all by itself.  
  
“It is nice to see you again, B,” Faith said nasally.  
  
“I am sorry for this,” Angel said. “Can we come in?”  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. “I did not think you had to ask anymore.”  
  
Angel face broke into a smile. He pushed his way past Buffy. “I don’t,” he said. “Ta-dah! Isn’t it cool?”  
  
“You being human is cool,” Buffy admitted. “The jazz hands, though, are a little dated.”  
  
Angel looked around at the mess in the apartment. His eyes fell upon the polaroid. He squatted down and picked it up. “Hey,” he said. “This is me. Did I really look this broody, back then?”  
  
“It’s not like you are all smiles and sunshine these days, either, old man,” Faith said. “First time I see you in two decades and you are all, ‘Drusilla is after me. Kate is dead. Help me, Faith. We must find Buffy.’”  
  
Angel scowled. “What’s your problem?”  
  
Faith laughed. “My problem? Really? Ever seen the movie  _Zulu?_  Or  _The_   _Alamo?_  That’s my problem. How about an apology, before you two start asking me for new favours? Or maybe you don’t need me anymore, now that you’ve found Buffy.” She looked at Buffy with obvious contempt. “Hold the line, you said. You didn’t say for how long.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “We are all very grateful for what you did in the war against the vampires, Faith.”  
  
“Not grateful enough to ask if I was still alive,” Faith scoffed. “You, especially, chose an opportune moment to desert.”  
  
“I thought it was somebody else’s turn to put in some work,” Buffy countered. “Someone who had spent most her years since activation in a coma or in jail.”  
  
Angel stepped between them. “Ladies, please,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”  
  
Faith laughed at him. “Drusilla is after Connor and you want me and the Buff to save him.” Faith turned towards Buffy. “I assume you know Connor is Angel’s son, even though I am sure he never told you. That makes Connor Drusilla’s uncle or something. I am not sure. They are all a little incestuous. Connor gave Angel a granddaughter by Cordelia, who is the only person other than yourself that has managed to turn Angel into Angelus.”  
  
“Faith…”  
  
“No, Angel, if you want my help you had better hear me out!”  
  
“Can you both please shut up?” Buffy screamed. “You are standing amongst the ruins of my life. Do you really think I need this right now?”  
  
“She makes a valid point, Angel. Does any of us need this shit right now?”  
  
“What are you not getting?” Angel said to both of them. “Drusilla is after my son and his family.”  
  
“And that affects us how, exactly?” Faith asked. “Connor can look after himself and his own. So could you, if you were willing to give up your precious humanity.”  
  
Buffy rubbed her temples. “Let’s backtrack. Drusilla is alive. How did she survive? Did we not kill them all? Who is Kate?”  
  
Faith thumped her chest with her finger. “Didn’t  _we_  kill them all, you mean. You weren’t there.”  
  
“To be honest, I was pretty shocked when Drusilla and Spike showed up in Sunnydale all those years ago,” Angel said. “I would never have believed they could survive on their own for so long.”  
  
“Get Spike to kill her for you,” Faith suggested.  
  
Angel made a grimace so ugly that he almost looked like a vampire again.  
  
“You may have to,” Buffy said. “I am not a slayer anymore.”  
  
Angel took Buffy’s hands in this. “Please, Buffy,” he said. “I feel terrible asking for help at a moment like this, but…”  
  
Buffy pulled herself free. “I am not a slayer, I said. Neither could I become one again. You are not a vampire anymore. I am not a slayer.”  
  
Faith put her hand to her mouth and gasped. “So, it’s true,” she said. “Just like all the others. I thought you were spared like me, because we are both OGs.” She hit Angel in the arm. “Looks like I am your only hope. Well, me and Spike, but I am not going to force you to stoop so low. Just mass up enough cash and I will kill your ex for you. Drusilla, I mean. Not Buffy. That would not be sporting anymore.”  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. “Then I will leave you two to fill out the details of this arrangement elsewhere.”  
  
Faith turned to leave, but Angel hesitated. “You are really not a slayer, anymore?” he asked. “No powers?”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
“Have you talked to Willow about it?” Angel asked. “She was the one who activated the other slayers. Maybe she can fix you.”  
  
“I am not sick,” Buffy said. “Unlike you, I was mortal even before I stopped being a slayer.”  
  
“But you’re really not  _you_ , are you?” Angel said. “Being a slayer was…”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Buffy said in a trembling voice. “How do you get off, saying I am not myself? How have you spent your life since you and Spike left downtown LA in ruins, Champion?”  
  
“I am just worried about you,” Angel said. “You are not as connected to Drusilla as I am, but you did foil her plans in Sunnydale and you ran off with her boyfriend.”  
  
Buffy scowled. “I thought  _you_  were her boyfriend.”  
  
Faith came walking back. “All those years I thought I was a slut, but when I looked beneath the dirt, I found I had nothing on the rest of you.”  
  
“Shut up, Faith,” Angel and Buffy said in unison.  
  
“Hey! How dare you speak like that to the only one who still has super powers?”  
  
Angel ignored her and turned back to Buffy. “What will you do if Dru comes here? What if she goes after Bobby or William?”  
  
“Then I will borrow Matt’s shot gun and use it to wipe that grin off her face,” she said. “I will not go crying to some ex-lover who has too much of her own to deal with.”  
  
“Please, Buffy,” Angel said. “This happened all wrong. I should not have brought Faith with me. I lost a dear old  _friend_  just two days ago. Drusilla turned her right in front of my eyes. You may have forgotten what it was like to fight for your life and for those you care about. If Drusilla comes here, you will remember quickly. It is not fun.”  
  
“I have not forgotten,” Buffy said. “And that is why I am not looking to relive those times. Goodbye.”  


* * *

  
Buffy and her friends will return in  **Chapter 4 - Welcome to _My_ Hellmouth. **Sneak peak below:  
  
“This is the Lone Ranger. I can’t really talk right now. I am undercover.”  
  
“Andrew?”  
  
“Buffy! ¿Cómo estás, Lolita? Greetings from Mehico.”  
  
“Andrew, what on earth are you up to? Are you on the run again?”  
  
“Am I on the run or is someone on the run from me?”  
  
“If you stop, you may find out.”  
  
“(…) Buffy, would like to meet me in San Diego in a week?”  
  
“Why on Earth would I wanna do that?”  
  
“Money?”  
  
“I am not helping you smuggle drugs across the border. There is a wall now.”  
  
“Buffy, when I joined the light side, it was for forever.”  
  
“Then what kind of money making scheme are you trying to get me involved in? Wait a minute. Don’t answer that. Not interested. I am calling about Willow.”  
  
“Is she coming?”  
  
“What? No! I need to know where she is. Do you have her phone number?”  
  
“As far as I know, Willow hasn’t owned a phone in several years. By the way, how did you get my number?”  
  
“The yellow pages. Maybe you should look into that before the feds find you.”  
  
“The Bureau is onto me? Shit!”  
  
“No, Andrew. Tell me where I can find Willow. Have you seen her lately?”  
  
“The Lone Ranger does not often spend time among the womenfolk. His Dharma is the road. Willow’s Dharma lies elsewhere.”  
  
“Andrew, where is Willow’s  _Dharma?_  
  
“Many places. Usually on her Hellmouth.”  
  
“Willow has a Hellmouth?”  
  
“It is also a volcano. She has a pretty sweet set-up there, but it is most suited for those of the feminine persuasion. In other words, not for the Lone Ranger.”  
  
****  
  
"Willow?"  
  
"Tara!"


	5. Welcome to My Hellmouth

**Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:**  
  
“Angel, if I am not the slayer, what do I do? What do I have to offer?”  
  
“I mean … if you could be … you know … plain old Willow or Super Willow, who would you be?”  
  
“You don’t need magic to be special.”  
  
“Don’t I?”  
  
“Am I real? Am I anything?”  
  
“It hurts so much. Every day. And it is not getting better.”  
  
“This is where I quit. I killed Dawn."  
  
"Is that what you think?"  
  
"My thinking it made it happen. Some part of me wanted it.”  
  
“You should try again, Will!”  
  
“All right, but I am not sure if she’s … you know … really  _in_  there.”  
  
“Try!”  
  
“Can you hear me? Buffy? Buffy? Buffy!”  
  
“Buffy!”  
  
“Buffy!”  
  
“Buffy!”  
  
“Buffy!”  
  
“All I see is six billion lunatics looking for the fastest way out. Look around - everyone's drinking, smoking, shooting up ... shooting each other, or just plain screwing their brains out 'cause they don't want 'em any more. Name one person who can take it here. Name one!”  
  
“Buffy!”  
  


### Chapter 4 - Welcome to  _My_ Hellmouth

  
“Scoot. My ass is on the wet spot. The one  _you_  made.”  
  
“Can’t you just wave your hand to clean it up?”  
  
“Not at the moment. My muscles are all tingly.”  
  
Tara laughed. “I blame you for everything,” she said. “You had such fire. I haven’t seen it in you in such a long time.”  
  
“What?” Willow said halfway between real and mock offence. “Do you mean to say I have been slacking off, lately?”  
  
“I don’t know what I am saying,” Tara mused dreamily. “This was just so intimate. I cannot remember feeling so close to you as I did just now.”  
  
“I am always close.”  
  
Tara looked away. “You  _want_  to be.”  
  
“I am  _gonna_  be,” Willow said and kissed Tara on the cheek.  
  
Tara sighed. “I hope so.” She stretched her arms. “You wanted my help with something? Your journal?”  
  
“Oh yes!” Willow sprang out of bed, stark naked. “I almost forgot. It is really important. We need to finish it.” She started rummaging through the room. “It is in my backpack. It should be here.”  
  
Tara sat up. “It is in the corner,” she said. “Underneath your jacket.”  
  
“How did I ever mange without you?” Willow said as she came back to the bed, carrying a journal and a cardboard box full of pictures. “I should have finished this before I came over, but I ran out of time. We need to do it quickly, and then you need to read it.”  
  
Tara looked puzzled. “Sure, but why?”  
  
“I need you to see me as I am, completely naked, and then you must tell me if you still love me.”  
  
Tara looked Willow from top to toe. “I see you and I love you.”  
  
Willow dropped the photos onto the bed. “We’ll see,” she said and sat down next to Tara. “Take this glue stick and let’s get to work.”  
  
They went through the pictures together and tried to glue them into appropriate pages in the journal. Among the stack of photographs were little notes of scribblings in Willow’s handwriting. They looked for pictures that matched the notes. The work was surprisingly easy, mostly, but time consuming.  
  
“We are never going to get this done,” Tara said after a while. “Weird.” She held up a photo. “You look  _older_  in this picture.”  
  
Willow looked nervous. “I may not have been completely honest with you, Tara.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Read the journal and you will understand.”  
  
Tara picked up a picture of Willow and Kennedy. “Who is this?”  
  
“She helped me,” Willow said. “When I was alone.” She hid her face in her hands. “I need you to read the journal, Tara. I cannot bear to tell it all to your face.”  
  
Tara opened the journal at a random page and read. “Tara ate two fried eggs this morning. It made me think about how her breasts are so much larger than mine are. Tonight, I will watch her to see what parts of my body  _she_  pays the most attention to. I ate a bagel, because I did not feel a baguette would be appropriate.” Tara looked up.  
  
“Maybe not my best work,” Willow said apologetically.  
  
“I’ve read this before,” Tara said. “I remember.”  
  
“Remembering is hard these days,” Willow said. “It is only the feelings that linger and even they are becoming fuzzy. Except my feeling for you, that is. You are always clear.”  
  
Tara turned her attention to the stack of pictures. “There are a lot here that you have forgotten to put in,” she said.  
  
Willow made a sigh that turned into a sad smile. “I stopped writing when stuff stopped mattering.”  
  
“Then where does all these notes come from?” Tara asked. “And who took all these pictures?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Willow said. “My mind, perhaps? I did not bring nearly as much as this with me.”  
  
Tara put her hand on Willow’s shoulder. “You’re scaring me, Will. Can’t you tell me what this is about?”  
  
A tear made its way down Willow’s cheek. “Not yet.” She looked away. “Maybe I should not have come at all. I don’t know if this is the place I should be. I need you to decide for me.”  
  
“You know what I want. I decided long ago. Behind the soda dispenser in the laundry room.”  
  
Willow looked back at Tara. “Not until you’ve read  _everything._ ”  
  
“What happens then?”  
  
Willow looked down. “If you don’t like it, we could burn it. Maybe we could start from scratch. Or I could leave, go someplace else. What I was hoping, was that we could write the final chapter together. One last entry. Then I can stay here forever, I think.” She looked back up. Her eyes were puffy.  
  
“I don’t understand. Are we not in Sunnydale?”  
  
“No, Tara. We are not in Sunnydale. And this is not 2002.”  
  
****  
  
“Don’t go up tha’ mountain. Bad Voodoo!”  
  
“Cut the accent crap! I heard you speaking to your friend in perfect English.”  
  
Buffy flung her pack across her shoulder and headed into the bush. The thicket was almost impenetrable. None of the locals was going to help her find her way. She needed to do this on her own. The likely result would be death by heat stroke or the poison of a snake or spider. The air was suffocatingly humid.  
  
Maybe she had sent Angel packing. Perhaps she had told him she would not pick up the mantle of being the slayer. What of it? She had told him similar lies before. Anyway, this trip was not for Angel. It was for Bobby and William. She needed to be confident she could protect them, if the worst should happen. Maybe she was also here for herself. There was no one really that she could talk to. Willow, despite her other flaws, had always been a good listener.  
  
Two hours into her ascent, Buffy lost her internet connection and her GPS started going wonky. Using a map was hopeless, because she could not see through the trees. All she knew was that she was going ever upwards, which was good. Up was the right way. No need to know anything else, really.  
  
The sweat that flowed over her skin attracted insects to every piece of exposed flesh on her body. Some even crawled underneath her shirt. If Andrew was wrong, if Willow was not to be found inside the crater, then Buffy knew she would die. There was no way she could make it up the mountain and back to the village again in one day.  
  
Buffy wiped her brow.  _How the hell did Andrew ever make it up here? Helicopter?_  
  
****  
  
She got out of the stall and went over to the sink. The cold water hurt her hands, but it felt refreshing when she splashed it over her face. Her sight was hazy. What did the necklace say? U mad? No. She was Dawn. That much was certain – or fairly certain. Who was Dawn? Buffy’s sister, shoplifter extraordinaire, honorary Scooby, the key to Hell. That would have to do for now.  
  
The bell rang. It seemed it was time to get back to class. No, wait. She was Dawn. Dawn sometimes skipped classes. She needed to see Buffy. That was more important.  
  
Outside the school building, she found a bicycle. Breaking the chain was easy. There was no one around to see her. She rode home quickly. Her memory was fuzzy, but she was able to find her way, because the way forward seemed clearer somehow, while the side streets were covered in a strange fog.  
  
Finally, she made it home. She jumped off the bike and ran through the door. Buffy greeted her smilingly in the kitchen. Dawn flung her arms around her and hugged her tightly, but Buffy felt cold and she did not hug her back.  
  
“Buffy? What’s wrong?”  
  
“Dawn, that’s not Buffy. That’s our automated slayer and parent evening machine.”  
  
Dawn turned and saw Willow standing by the kitchen counter.  
  
“Willow!”  
  
“Is that really you, Dawnie? Are you real?”  
  
“Please, don’t ask me that Willow. I am confused enough already.”  
  
“I just…” Willow looked discerningly at Dawn. “Are you self-aware?”  
  
Dawn threw up her hands. “Are you asking me or the BuffyBot?”  
  
Willow came over and hugged Dawn. “I guess there is no way to know. You  _feel_  real. Tara felt real, too, but I guess I cannot be sure about her either.”  
  
“Willow, please tell me what is going on. I am so confused.”  
  
“Oh, boy! First Tara, now you. This is a lot to handle.” Willow sat down on a chair. “Here is how it is, Dawn. We’re in Tara’s house. She is upstairs now, deciding whether she is going to throw me out or not. Don’t worry. I am sure she won’t throw  _you_  out. You can chose to stay or you can come with me. It depends on where I am going. If I am sent back, then obviously you can’t come, but I think it may be too late to go back. I kinda hope it is.”  
  
“What? Back where? Why would Tara throw you out? Did you wipe her mind again? Is that what has happened to me?”  
  
“No.” Willow said, but the suggestion seemed to have hit a nerve – a tender one. “I am done lying to her. This time I am giving her the truth. All of it. I have no idea if she will finally forgive me or if she will hate me even more.” She closed her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Had to be done.”  
  
“Willow, please explain to me what is going on.”  
  
Willow sighed. “Oh, boy! Ooooh, Goddess! Tell you what: Help me make dinner and get the kitchen tidy. When Tara comes down, you tell her how happy you are to see us back together, just like you did last time. Tara and I will kiss and make up. We will eat. I will explain where we are and why, and then we will live happily ever after as a family. Emphasis on  _ever_. Ok?”  
  
“What? No! Not okay! Tell me  _now!_  What did you  _do,_  Willow?”  
  
“Nothing! Not to you at least. I haven’t even seen you in almost 25 years or something, which I feel really bad about now that I think about it.” Her distraught expression told Dawn that Willow was not lying.  
  
“25 years? That doesn’t even make any sense. Neither of us are that old.”  
  
Willow tilted her head. “Are you sure that you are real? If you were real, you should know how old you are. Tara doesn’t know, because she … well … she has been here a long time, and I guess that can make you a little confused.” She tried to contain a laugh. “I am starting to feel confused already.” She sighed. “If you are not real, then why are you the only one who is here? Where is everybody else? And who  _made_  you? Me or Tara?”  
  
“…”  
  
“But if you weren’t real, then you would not be asking so many questions, would you? You would just be doing regular Dawn things, I guess. Why would  _my_  mind make a Dawn to ask me why  _it_  was here? That would be bonkers.”  
  
A loud bang made Dawn cover her ears. A bullet ripped through the kitchen wall and smashed a lightbulb right above Willow’s head, making shards rain down upon her head.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
Willow had frozen in place. Her face bore a grimace of absolute terror. Dawn grabbed her shoulders and tried to shake her into action.  
  
“I thought I could forgive myself,” Willow mumbled. “But I couldn’t, could I? Not before Tara does…” Her eyes widened. “Oh Goddess, no! I brought  _him_  here. Please, Goddess, don’t let me turn into him. I am  _not_  him.”  
  
Several more bullets came flying through the wall and through the windows. Dawn felt one of them zing just past her neck.  
  
“Willow! Mojo! Now! Anything!”  
  
Willow finally snapped out of it, but her sight went straight past Dawn. “Tara! I need to get to Tara, before it is too late!”  
  
Willow sprang from her chair and pushed Dawn aside. Dawn tripped and fell to the floor. Bullets were flying everywhere. Dawn crawled towards the stairs. A bullet hit her in the leg and took with it a big chunk of her calf. The pain was excruciating. Dawn pulled herself forwards with her arms. She could hear Willow screaming and shouting upstairs.  
  
“Did you read it Tara? What shall I do? Please, tell me what to do! Tara!”  
  
“Willow, I am hurt.” Dawn could hardly hear her own voice. When she grabbed the railing on the stairs, she could not see her own arm.  
  
“I am finishing it, Tara. I am writing the last chapter.”  
  
“Willow, I am fading. Willow, Willow, Willow……………………………..”  
  
The haze. It was not just her sight that was hazy. It was not just her arm that was fading. The room dispersed into a fog. Her mind went blank. Willow could not hear the faint whisper that emanated from Dawn’s lips. Could not remember. No longer cared.  
  
*****  
  
“WILLOW!”  
  
It was hopeless. If Willow was at the mountaintop, then there was no way she could hear Buffy’s cries for help. Buffy did not know how far it was left, but her voice could not possibly carry far through the deafening thicket.  
  
Did she deserve this? Had she broken some law by deserting her slayer duties to raise a family? Was this painful and humiliating death her punishment?  
  
Turns out it was not. As Buffy felt herself drift into a final sleep, an unlikely rescue crew pushed their way through the trees. It was a blindfolded girl led by two others.  
  
“The disturbance is near,” the blindfolded girl said. She looked to be in her mid to late teens.  
  
“We see her,” the other girls said almost in chorus. They looked somewhat older.  
  
“Water…” Buffy gasped. Her throat had dried completely after all her shouting.  
  
The young girl removed her blindfold. “I feel dizzy.” Buffy thought she meant from walking blind down a mountainside, but then she said, “The vibrations emanating from her are so strong.”  
  
“Defiler,” the older duo said. They grabbed Buffy’s rucksack and took the cell phone from her pocket. “Why do you bring these devices to our sacred place?”  
  
“Willow,” Buffy muttered as she rolled around on the forest floor. “I came to see Willow.”  
  
“Give her water,” the youngest said.  
  
The older pair scowled at her. “Should we not question her first?”  
  
“This,” the young girl said, “is our priestess’s former best friend.”  
  
One girl sat Buffy up. The other put a flask to her mouth. Buffy drank greedily.  
  
“Not so much,” they said in almost prefect sync. “We will need it on our way back.”  
  
“Thank you,” Buffy said.  
  
“No. Thank  _you!_ ” The young girl squatted down in front of her. “For being a champion and a teacher to our priestess, back when she was still finding her footing.” She held out both her hands and Buffy took them. “I am Mae,” the girl said without moving her lips. The information conveyed itself by electricity through their arms.  
  
“Why do you seek the priestess?” the other girls asked.  
  
“I want her to reinstate me,” Buffy answered.  
  
“… as the slayer,” Mae added.  
  
“As best friend,” Buffy said. “I did not like it when you said  _former._ ”  
  
Mae smiled. “She will be pleased.”  
  
Buffy stood up. “I hope so. I am ready to go. Lead the way.”  
  
It turned out it was still far to go. Buffy could not even feel the burning in her thighs nor the aching in her knees, because her headache drowned everything else out. Her escorts had thrown away her aspirin, calling it an unclean drug. The echoing twins still eyed her with suspicion, but Mae was friendly, though not very talkative.  
  
When they finally arrived at the top, Buffy fell to her knees from exhaustion. A refreshing breeze kept her from toppling over like a bowling pin. The sight that met her was not a crater, but a beautiful valley with a volcanic crater at its centre. The air and temperature was much more comfortable. The pain in Buffy’s brow and joints was receding.  
  
“It is beautiful,” Buffy uttered.  
  
Mae put her blindfold back on and sat down in full lotus pose. “Don’t look,” she said. “Feel…”  
  
Buffy felt. “Something feels wrong,” she said. “As if someone left the stove on.”  
  
The duo both folded their arms. “If something feels wrong, then it is something you brought.”  
  
“No,” Buffy said, massaging her brow. “There is something coming with the wind from the valley … Willow.”  
  
Buffy ran. She knew where to go. Her legs were aching and her balance was unsteady, but she bit her lip and ignored it. There was a cave towards the centre of the valley. Willow was inside. Buffy knew it. She also knew that Willow had gotten herself into trouble, and it was up to Buffy to get her out of it.  
  
Buffy looked back across her shoulder. The two angry girls were chasing her. They were probably baffled that a middle-aged lady could outrun them so easily.  
  
In her zeal to reach her friend, Buffy ignored all the beautiful sights that surrounded her. The flowers, the trees, the acres, the architecture and the sculpture. This was a land of both beauty and plenty. Buffy was her for only one thing.  
  
Finally, she stood at the mouth of the cave. Her legs were mutinying. They had run as far as they were going to run today. Buffy fought to get her breath back. The air was less moist, but it was still hot. She regained her composure and stood up. A woman much taller than herself blocked the entrance.  
  
“Who are you?” the guardswoman asked. “This place is forbidden for outsiders, especially outsiders with bleached hair and blue jeans.”  
  
Buffy looked down. She could perhaps have chosen better hiking apparel, but nearly all her money went to buy the plane ticket to get here.  
  
“Step aside,” Buffy demanded. “My friend is in there.”  
  
“I will not,” the guardswoman said defiantly. “Once more, I demand you give me your name.”  
  
Buffy felt something stirring inside. It could be allergies or food poisoning, but something told her it was not. “I am Buffy … the vampire slayer … and I will bitch slap any flower worshipping hippie who tries to keep me from seeing my best friend.”  
  
The guardswoman crossed her arms. “You would bring your violence to our sacred place?”  
  
Just then, a siren’s scream came from inside the cave. Buffy pushed the guard away and ran inside. She found Willow laying on the floor. Black bile was seeping into the veins in her old friend’s brow and her skin was as white as a sheet. Blood bubbled from her nostrils.  
  
“Get away from her,” Buffy shouted at the women who were tending to Willow.  
  
The following minutes passed in a blur. The attendees tried to pull Buffy away, but she punched and scratched at them like a mother tiger. Was it the shouting? The slaps across the cheeks? Was it the pounding Buffy gave to Willow’s ribcage or was it the kiss of life that finally restored her? For whatever reason, Willow eventually drew breath and proceeded to throw up. The goo that came out stank worse than death and threads of saliva hung on like umbilical chords.  
  
Buffy thought she saw a smile, before she passed out.  
  
*****  
  
“The others are angry.”  
  
Buffy woke up and looked straight into Mae’s almond eyes.  
  
“The priestess told them not to be.” Mae held a wet towel to Buffy’s brow. “She is waiting for you in one of the places that are just her own. I felt sadness, some resentment, but also … hope.”  
  
“She was dying,” Buffy said.  
  
“The others would never believe it, but I fear you are right.” Mae put the towel down and held up some smelly salts to Buffy’s nostrils. “Her humours have shifted. I got her to change her diet, but it did not help.”  
  
“I need to see her. We need each other.”  
  
Mae smiled. “Would you eat something first?”  
  
“No, but thanks. I must wait until after.”  
  
Mae put a hand on Buffy’s chest. “Your heart is hungry,” she said. “Remember: The heart sustains itself on love, but to beat, it also needs food.”  
  
“You are right,” Buffy admitted. “I ran out of cookies halfway up the mountain. Could I have something to drink first, please? My mouth is a desert.”  
  
“So is my country,” Mae said. “Or most of it – the countryside.” She cupped her hands and dipped them into the stream beside them. “Drink and be restored, Phoenix.” She held her hands up to Buffy like an offering.  
  
Buffy drank. Then she coughed. “Phoenix?”  
  
Mae refilled her hands. “You walk through fire. You die only to return. You have rested and doused your wings in water. You should be ready to wake up. Most of the others are already awake.”  
  
“Who?” Buffy asked after drinking. “Who is awake?”  
  
“An old man who slept with demons and makes men out of clothes. The dark knight and his wicked mistress.”  
  
“Who are they?”  
  
Mae picked up a bowl of herbal soup with strange rootgrowths floating within. “You know better than me, because you have met them.”  
  
Buffy ate. The food was aromatic and the bitter taste was somehow quite pleasant. Mae retied her blindfold and did not speak anymore. Buffy put the bowl by her feet once she was done.  
  
“Follow this stream,” Mae said as she heard the bowl clank against the rocky ground. “It will take you to the priestess.”  
  
Buffy did as she was told. It was almost evening. The sun had almost completed its decent. Buffy hugged herself for warmth. She passed many women. They wore ponchos of hemp to keep warm. Buffy would have asked if she could have one, but they all eyed her with such cold suspicion, that she did not dare to. The stream took her to a pool of water inside a glade hidden by a wall of trees. Steam rose from the water and made the air bearably warm. Willow sat cross-legged on a rock, wrapped in a blanket. Her hair was wet. She must have been swimming in the pool.  
  
Willow did not turn to look as Buffy approached. “Figures you would show up today of all days.”  
  
Buffy put a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “The day you finally relapsed and overdosed on sage?”  
  
Willow pulled the blanket more tightly around herself. “It was something much stronger than sage I took. And … it is not what you think. It was not a relapse.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You know what I mean,” Willow said coldly and finally turned towards Buffy. “I was trying to get to  _heaveeeaaaann_ ,” she sang in a familiar off-key tune.  
  
“Willow, you wouldn’t.”  
  
Willow laughed. “Wouldn’t I? You of all people should know better.”  
  
“But that was me,” Buffy protested. “And it was a long time ago.”  
  
“Things change.”  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. “Do they? I find you in more or less the same condition as I left you.”  
  
Willow grimaced. “Likewise. Look at yourself. The great warrior queen. I am sure even I could take you now, if I wanted.”  
  
“Why do these people call you their priestess?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Willow scoffed.  
  
“Of course you do,” Buffy insisted. “They worship you. You’ve created a cult.”  
  
Willow sighed. “I did not mean to. This was never meant to be about me. It was about the planet and the hellmouths.”  
  
“The hellmouths?”  
  
“The hellmouths are closing. We are trying to stop it.”  
  
“Why is the hellmouths closing a bad thing?”  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. “Hellmouth is a name made from ignorance. The hellmouths are our link to the beyond. We are working to keep that link open, but it is an impossible task.” She made a wry smile. “Let’s just say Fox News was right about one thing. They knew who the enemy was.”  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Muslims? Muslims are closing the hellmouths?”  
  
“No, the other ones.”  
  
“Socialists?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Berkley liberals?”  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
“Social justice warriors?”  
  
“Nah!”  
  
“Lesbian Wiccans?”  
  
“We are the ones working to restore the hellmouths.”  
  
“Feminazis?”  
  
“Plenty of them here to.”  
  
“The Starbuck Christmas cup?”  
  
“They never made one with a Menorah, but no.”  
  
“Satanists?”  
  
“We have made an uneasy alliance with some Satanists. We have a don’t ask/don’t tell policy when it comes to virgin sacrifice.”  
  
Buffy threw up her arms. “Then who?”  
  
“Atheists, of course.”  
  
“Atheists?”  
  
“Weeeell, not atheists specifically. More like non-believers of all kinds. The world has become less spiritual, less idealistic.” Willow looked at the opening in Buffy’s shirt. “You, for example, are not wearing your cross.”  
  
Buffy shrugged. “No vampires.”  
  
“Yes, no vampires. I have come to wonder if we made a mistake. We took the vampires out of the world and something … was lost. The scales did not tip. Something was lost on the other side as well. The slayers … and many others. I have tried to keep the Wiccans going, but we are few.”  
  
Buffy suddenly had a terrible suspicion. “Willow, do you have anything to do with Drusilla’s return?”  
  
Willow started. “What? No! Drusilla’s back? I did not even know she was still alive. We dusted them all.”  
  
Buffy scrutinized her friend. “Mae knows.”  
  
Willow smiled. “Mae. Impossible to teach her. She only seems to understand things she has never been taught. The things she could not possible know. Negative capability, I guess.”  
  
“Angel believes Drusilla is a threat. I sought you out to ask you to restore my slayer strength.”  
  
“Restore your ..?” Willow sprang up. “Buffy, no one took it away from you. You gave it up. You and all the others.”  
  
“I didn’t. I started to lose it even before I left the other slayers. Awakening the potentials may have caused it … spread the power too thin.”  
  
Willow crossed her arms. “Buffy, fuck you!”  
  
“Willow!?”  
  
Willow looked furious. Her eyes darkened. “Of course. Blame me and the magic again. Not only are you blaming me for this, but you are asking me to cast a similar spell again. This is  _your_  fault,” she spat. “You were not chosen. Do you think  _I_  could have been a slayer? Could Harmony? Cordelia? Xander? You were picked, because you wanted it. You always said you were a ditsy cheerleader before you came to Sunnydale. Bullshit! You were made the slayer, because deep inside, you  _wanted_  to be different. You wanted the power to make a change. You did not survive all those years. You persevered. We – Xander and I – were in awe. My proudest moment was when I defied the powers of the Cosmos to bring you back. Then you spat in my face. It took me a long time to realise I had made a mistake. Your fire had started to burn out, as is the way of things. That is why you lost your strength.”  
  
Willow fell to her knees, seemingly exhausted from her cathartic rant.  
  
“Willow, I…”  
  
“I could have had Tara, Buffy. We had all our lives in front of us. I never wanted to fight or to see my friends die. Everything I did, I did for you. It cost me Tara. Now I keep fighting, because I have nothing left to lose. I yearn for everything we have done to make sense … to be able to justify all that we gave up. Today I would trade the world for Tara. I would trade  _you_  for Tara.”  
  
Buffy knelt down beside Willow. “Will, don’t tell me that was what you were trying to do today. Were you trying to bring back Tara?”  
  
Willow shook her head. “When the hellmouths close, I want to be on the other side.”  
  
Buffy's eyes widened. “You were breaking into Heaven?”  
  
“Not Heaven. Elysium. The souls who are ready to rest go to Heaven. Those that still cling to their individuality go to the Elysian Fields. It is a place of dreams, where they live out their mortal lives again. Tara is there. Perhaps it is because she died so young. There was so much for her yet to do. But I want to believe that she … maybe she is …” Her words broke into sobs.  
  
“You want to believe that she is waiting there for you to join her.”  
  
Tears made their way down Willow’s cheeks. She did nothing to hold them back or wipe them off. “When I came, she did not even realise we had been apart.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened. “You spoke to Tara?”  
  
Willow looked into the water at the reflection of the rising moon. “I think so. I could not simply kill myself. I needed to know if I was wanted. I worked so hard to be worthy of her. One of the first things she said to me was how impressed she was by my magic. I worked so hard to impress her more. Then I frightened her.” She sniffed. “Do the dead see us? Did Tara see me honour her memory by tearing the skin from the body of her killer? Could she look at me or touch me after having seen what I am capable of? I had to know.”  
  
“What did she say?”  
  
“I cannot remember anymore. My visit – it was like a dream that fades from memory as soon as you awake.” She bit her lip. “It does not matter. Tonight I jump into the volcano to throw myself at Tara’s feet.” She looked at Buffy with an unsettling smile on her face. “Like I did after crashing that car, remember? If Tara rejects me, then I am off to Hell. Fire hell, ice hell, upside down hell. I don’t even care.”  
  
Buffy stood up. “No,” she said. “I won’t let you.”  
  
Willow sighed. “Maybe you should join me. We could hold hands as we made the plunge. Together, as before.” Her tone was almost playful. Then it turned serious. “Buffy, the world is dying. If we outlive the hellmouths, then our souls will be trapped here forever. You will never get back into Heaven. I will never be with Tara again.”  
  
“I am not killing myself. I have two boys.”  
  
“Everyone will die eventually, once the hellmouths close. Humans cannot live on food and air alone. At least, I don’t think so. I am not sticking around to find out.”  
  
“Then…” Buffy searched for words. “Then we fix it. Before it is too late. What is one more apocalypse for the likes of us?”  
  
“ _We_  tried fixing it.  _Your_  help would not make a difference.”  
  
“Willow, this is madness. You believe the world is ending, and you are just going to abandon it.”  
  
“The world abandoned me first.”  
  
With those words, Willow ran out of the woods and down towards the crater. Buffy set after her. In the old days, catching up to Willow would have been easy. Today, her tired legs worked against her. Willow kept a surprising pace. Buffy realised that she would not make it.  
  
It was to Buffy’s surprise and great relief that she saw Willow still standing above the crater. She had not leapt yet. Buffy did not call out to her. She ran up behind her as silently as she could, grabbed her and pulled her away from the edge. They tumbled backwards and rolled over each other. She had expected Willow to fight her, but she didn’t. Willow was laughing, heartily. Then she grabbed Buffy’s face and kissed her on the mouth.  
  
“What was that for?” Buffy said as she pulled herself free.  
  
“Did you really wanna die knowing you were the only one of my friends that I never kissed?”  
  
“Only one?”  
  
“Well, almost. Remember, I did not use to have that many friends.”  
  
They both laughed. Buffy felt like she was now finally seeing her old friend again. This looked like the Willow she knew. A little worn around the eyes, a little more rounded in places, but otherwise untarnished by time.  
  
“Why are you suddenly so chirpy?” Buffy asked.  
  
“Can you not feel it?” Willow said excitedly. “It is open again. The hellmouth is opening.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“It means that I have time. Time to write a better story for Tara. Time to set the world right.”  
  
“So you are not leaving us just yet then? Good. To have found you just to lose you again. I could not have borne it.”  
  
Willow grimaced again. “You seem to have done just fine all this time.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “Willow, I cannot apologise for wanting to have a normal life. Maybe things could have ended better. I should have worked harder to stay in touch. I thought you would be happy with Kennedy and the other slayers. Or maybe I just wanted to think that.”  
  
“So, I guess you will be going back then … to your normal life. We are short on normal here.”  
  
“I still need your help. Drusilla may be after me for revenge. She may come for my children.”  
  
“Then slay her.”  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
“Not with that attitude certainly.”  
  
“Willow, I need your help. I am begging you. If Angel is scared, then I think I should be to.”  
  
“Angel. I remember him. Used to be a bad-ass vampire, before he asked me to turn him into a mundie.”  
  
“Can I not convince you?” Buffy sat down upon a piece of volcanic rock. “Did I come all this way for nothing?”  
  
Willow went and sat down beside her. After a long while, she said. “I will help you on one condition. We reform the Scoobies.”  
  
Buffy started. “We what?”  
  
“To become a slayer again, you need to reconnect with the person you used to be. The Scoobies were a big part of that. Other than that … helping you will mean leaving my new family. If so, then I want my old family back.”  
  
“Tara and Anya are dead. Giles is in England.”  
  
“There is Xander … and Oz … Robin … Faith.”  
  
“You want us to go get your two ex-boyfriends? One is a drunk the other is maybe a Tibetan monk or something.”  
  
“Xander came for me after everyone else gave up. I owe him. I should have gone to him sooner. Now I can bring him you.”  
  
“Bring him me?”  
  
“You mattered to him … more than Anya did. You were the centre that gave his life meaning … that made him feel useful.”  
  
Buffy grimaced. “So that makes me responsible for him?”  
  
Willow sighed. “There was a time when you looked on us as friends, not as burdens to keep you down.”  
  
“Will seeing Xander help me become the slayer again?”  
  
“It might. Truth is I need to see old faces. These women,” Willow waved her hand at the valley, “they worship the words from my lips, but I never felt like I truly belonged with them.”  
  
“All right,” Buffy said. “When do we leave? Do you know how to find him?”  
  
Willow’s mouth curved into a smile. “We leave now,” she said and grabbed Buffy by the wrist. Buffy lost her balance. Willow pulled her along towards the crater and dove off the edge, dragging Buffy with her. Smoke enveloped them. Buffy’s eyes burned. “Hold on to me,” Willow called to her. “This will be a wild ride.”


	6. The Lone Ranger and the Zeppo

**Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:  
  
** "Your gift is death."  
  
"My gift is death."  
  
"I don't know what I'd do ... without you and Will."  
  
"I love you. You know that, right?"

****

### Chapter 5 - The Lone Ranger and the Zeppo

A civilian car drove through the desert. The driver was the deputy sheriff of a local town. His lips were playing with an unlit cigarette. He had a pink rash on his neck that he constantly scratched with his unkempt fingernails. His hairline was receding. His long greasy locks blew in the wind from the open window. He put his arm through it and tapped the outside of the door with his fingers.  
  
“One toke over the line, sweet Jesus, sittin’ downtown in a railroad station, one toke over the line…”  
  
An ugly groan from the backseat interrupted his song. He turned to look over his shoulder without slowing down the car.  
  
“You’re not blind, son. I put the patch on your good eye. You don’t wanna see the sun now, in your state.”  
  
He plucked the cigarette from his own mouth and stuck it between the lips of the near unconscious passenger. A zippo lighter had fallen out of the man’s pocket and was rolling back and forth in the seat. The sheriff picked it up, flipped it open in one hand and deftly snapped the fingers on his other to light it. The passenger started coughing as the smoke from the now burning cigarette filled his mouth and started to push at his throat.  
  
“Hair of the dog, ol’ boy. Hair of the dog.” The sheriff said as he returned his attention to the road. “It will make you feel better … or less bad. I assume your nerves must be pretty strung.”  
  
The sheriff switched on his car radio. The noise brought pained groans from the coughing man in the backseat. The sheriff turned down the volume a little. He was not heartless. Far from it. He had great sympathy for the man he was transporting. He had probably saved the old boy from a beating. The voices on the radio screamed to him about local businesses. The sheriff knew both the voices and the places they advertised. On his way back, he would drop by Nadine’s café for something stiff to take the edge off. Then he would go to Joe’s hardware store and complain about the screwdriver he bought last week.  
  
The sheriff pulled the car off the road with a little too much speed. The wheels screeched against the asphalt and pulled up a cloud of dust that blew into the car. The sheriff turned to look at his passengers.  
  
“I ain’t stopping here for long,” he said. “It will be evening soon, and this is bat country.” He coughed and spat out a lump of coal tasting phlegm. “My current medications make me paranoid of anything with wings. I want to be home before they leave their caves.”  
  
The sheriff reached forward towards the passenger and pulled his eyepatch over his empty eye socket, revealing the one blood red eye.  
  
The sheriff laughed. “Jesus, man, you look awful.” He took some aspirin out of the glove compartment and grinded it into powder inside his dirty hands. Then he dropped the powder inside his hip flask, shook it and gave it to the passenger. “Drink this and sleep. Aspirin and rye.”  
  
The passenger took the flask. He searched the seat for his lighter. The cigarette fell from his mouth and dropped onto his exposed knee. He bit his lip to stop himself from screaming. The sheriff snickered.  
  
“Find your bed and get to sleep,” he ordered. “And wait at least a couple weeks before you come back. You made some people angry tonight. They don’t wanna see you around too soon.” He laughed. “You won’t remember what I am saying now when you wake up, will you?”  
  
The passenger did not respond. He took the lighter and the flask and stumbled out of the car.  
  
The sheriff honked the horn of his car. “Dead man walkin’,” he shouted. “A resident has returned to Dead Man’s Trailer Park.” Then he drove off, leaving his late passenger in another cloud of dust.  
  
****  
  
Xander opened his eye. He had awoken with a burning fever. His whole body was covered in sweat. He smelled as bad as the rest of the inside of his trailer. A delicate hand touched his shoulder. It was Willow’s.  
  
“Leave, Willow,” Xander said. “This isn’t right.”  
  
“It feels just right,” Willow whispered.  
  
“But…” Xander protested. “I am an agent of the FBI and you …” He turned to look into her beautiful, pale visage. “… you are a High School Wicca.” He turned away. “It would never work.”  
  
“I am sure it will,” Willow insisted. “I want you to be my  _first._ ”  
  
There was a knock on the door. “That is probably Buffy,” Xander said. “I wonder what she wants this early in the morning?”  
  
Xander stepped out of bed and screamed as his bare foot encountered broken glass. There was another knock. Xander limped over to the door. The key to the padlock was not in its usual place. Xander cursed.  
  
“It is by the coffee machine,” Willow pointed out.  
  
Xander felt for it with his hands, found it and used it to unlock the chain that held the door. The visitor was not Buffy. It was … the darkness made it hard to see anything other than the silhouette. A cowboy hat… The man reached out for him. Xander thought he was being attacked, but he wasn’t. He was getting a hug … from  _Andrew!?_  
  
“Howdy, partner … amigo.” Andrew let go of him. Then he turned towards the crowd of people standing behind him. “This, fellow travellers, is the mighty Xander. Vampire slayer extraordinaire. The One Who Sees. Friend to the Lone Ranger.”  
  
“I thought only girls could be vampire slayers,” someone standing in the crowd said.  
  
Andrew waved him off. “An accident of birth never stopped the mighty Xander. Penis or no, Xander has fought the beasts of Hell and persevered.”  
  
“Why is he not wearing any pants?” another asked.  
  
Xander suddenly realised that he was wearing nothing, except his boxer shorts and a thorn wife beater.  
  
“Xander, perhaps we should go inside for a moment,” Andrew whispered before addressing his crowd again. “My friends, I will take a moment to converse with the mighty Xander in private. He has obviously just come home from a long …  _day_  … of partying. Enjoy what this fair town has to offer while you wait.”  
  
“This is a fucking scrapheap,” one of the crowd responded. “Is anyone else even alive here?”  
  
Xander found himself pushed back into his home. He looked towards his bed. Willow was gone.  
  
“Xander, goodness gracious, what have you done to yourself?” Andrew looked at him with concern.  
  
“I may be bit down on my luck,” Xander admitted.  
  
“Down on your luck!?” Xander received a slap across his cheek. “I never wanna see you in this state again, Xander,” Andrew nearly screamed at him.  
  
“Man, you’ve grown some balls,” Xander said as he rubbed his jaw.  
  
“Cojones,” Andrew corrected him. “We call them cojones in Mehico.”  
  
“Right…” Xander parted the curtains and looked out the window. “What’s up with this fan club you have trailing you?”  
  
“Oh, them?” Andrew removed his comically large cowboy hat. “Just a bunch of nerds. Vampire nerds. There is an online community where they discuss slayers, souled vampires, the Watcher’s Council and Illuminati conspiracies.”  
  
“And why are they on my porch?” Xander asked.  
  
“I pick a group of them up at the San Diego Comic-Con every year,” Andrew explained. “This group was getting a little restless, so I thought I would take them to see the mighty Xander.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The Lone Ranger’s Guided Tour of Undead America,” Andrew said, obviously proud of himself. “A two week road trip in the footsteps of the mighty vampire slayers.”  
  
“And why did you come here?” Xander put a cigarette in his mouth, but he could not find his lighter. “Am I an attraction?”  
  
“You could be,” Andrew said. “If you looked more attractive.” He started rummaging through Xander’s clothes. “Do you have anything that is remotely clean?”  
  
“I have a set of clothes packed in a plastic bag for special occasions,” Xander said dryly and pointed towards the corner.  
  
“Let’s fix you up and get you on the bus with us,” Andrew said.  
  
“What? No way.”  
  
“Xander, you can’t stay here like this. Come with me.”  
  
“I am not getting on a bus with you and a bunch of kidnapped schoolchildren.”  
  
Andrew looked offended. “They’re costumers,” he said. “Most of them are in college. They are donating a small sum from their student loans to keep my business going.” He sighed. “I will give you 2,000 dollars at the end of the week.”  
  
“2,000?”  
  
“But you are not coming back here again,” Andrew said. “This is not the place for a legendary warrior to die. People like us, our dharma is the road.”  
  
“I live in a mobile home, don’t I?”  
  
“This trailer has not been on the road since the antebellum period.”  
  
“When did you become so snarky?”  
  
“Since I was elected Head General of the Slayer Army.”  
  
Xander snickered. “And how many was left by that point? How many officers did you have underneath you?”  
  
“Well, there was Tucker and Willow … she was not really part of the officer staff. We referred to her as Mother Superior to the Wiccans. There were a few more. A lot of people came and went. I can’t remember.”  
  
“It was you and Tucker. And Tucker had a day job.”  
  
Andrew sat down on a pile of … something. He looked weary. “In the end, when we closed down the office, Willow hadn’t dropped by in months and none of the slayers abroad answered the phone or returned our emails.”  
  
Xander threw his unlit cigarette on the floor and sighed a smokeless sigh. “It certainly ended fast. I never understood why.”  
  
“Why did  _you_  leave?”  
  
Xander looked away. “I don’t know. Anya was dead. Giles was a pain in the ass. Buffy hated me. Then she left. I did not see Willow much. The new slayers treated me like dead weight.”  
  
“But I’d give the world to see, that old gang of mine,” Andrew sang, throwing out his arms. “I can’t forget that old quartet.”  
  
Xander rubbed his temples. “If I had a stake ready, Andrew, I swear…” He scowled. “During all these years, I never missed  _you!_ ”  
  
“That was harsh!”  
  
“It was warranted. Just like the death of your friend.”  
  
A silence ensued. “I see,” Andrew said. “Still, here I am. No one else will be coming for you. Maybe a week on the road will change your outlook a little. A chance to bask in the old glory.”  
  
“Will we be stopping for drinks?”  
  
“The bus has an icebox full of apple cider.”  
  
“That will work.”  
  
“Now we just need to clean you up. Do you have any water for washing? A razor?” Andrew looked closely at Xander. “When we get to the bus, I am going to bathe your face in moisturiser. Have you heard of sun lotion?”  
  
“There is some water in the fridge,” Xander said. “I think I just stepped on a safety razor.”  
  
Andrew opened the fridge and found a half a litre bottle of water. “Why do you have a fridge if there is no electricity?”  
  
“Fridge becomes closet,” Xander answered absentmindedly.  
  
“Sit down on the bed,” Andrew ordered. “I am going to trim that stubble with a rusty knife, if I have to. There are  _hairs_  connecting your eyebrows. You have a face only Ernie could love, and he is spoken for.”  
  
“Andrew, I can do this myself.”  
  
“I see no proof on you that you can,” Andrew said. “It seems I am taking over where Anya left off. Sit down and let me get to work.”  
  
A few minutes later, Xander was reasonably clean. His stubble was tidy and of a reasonable and even length. He had put on clothes that probably did not smell. The inside of the trailer reeked, so it was hard to be sure.  
  
They stepped outside. “Xander, I give you the world. World, I give you the mighty Xander.”  
  
It was completely empty. A tumbleweed blew past them.  
  
“My nerds,” Andrew exclaimed. “Where are my nerds?”  
  
“Andrew, this is not a playground. Some shifty people live around here. We better find them.”  
  
“They’re inside that trailer,” Andrew said.  
  
They ran over. Andrew’s entire group was crammed inside the tiny trailer.  
  
“What is going on?” Andrew asked.  
  
“There is dead woman inside.”  
  
“She’s so skinny.”  
  
“But kinda hot.”  
  
“Oh, no.” Xander bit his lip. “It’s Jane. She’s overdosed.” The girl had come from the Midwest to escape her parents. Her story was somewhat similar to Tara’s. Tara… That was so long ago. Xander could barely remember what she looked like.  
  
“A vampire bite!”  
  
“Na-hah!”  
  
“Don’t be stupid.”  
  
“Let me see!”  
  
“Boys,” Xander shouted. “Come out. Those are needle marks.” He could neither enter the trailer nor look inside, because of all the boys that blocked his path.  
  
“Would she inject herself in the neck – same vein – about two inches apart?”  
  
“Xander?” Andrew was looking nervous.  
  
“They are needle marks. Boys, come out. I want to check on her.”  
  
Andrew was tugging at his arm. “Xander, what if it isn’t?”  
  
“Andrew, when a junkie dies in a trailer park, you do not instantly assume vampire attack. Anyway, we killed the vampires.”  
  
“Did we?” Andrew’s eyes widened. “The vampire attacks stopped after the slayers cut contact. We lost count of how many we dusted. We have no idea how many could have been left.”  
  
“I’ve lived here for almost five years,” Xander said. “I have never heard or seen…”  
  
Andrew grabbed Xander by the collar. “Have you never seen a monster movie!? What if this is the sequel?” He looked towards the trailer. “Lower budget. Only two original cast members. Enough gore and nudity to make up for the lousy script.”  
  
“Andrew get off me. I want to check on my friend. Boys, come out before I drag you out.”  
  
A spray of blood painted the trailer’s window from the inside.  
  
“Xander…”  
  
“Andrew…”  
  
“This is the sequel!”  
  
“Andrew … shut up!”  
  
“There are like a million trailers here!”  
  
“Andrew clap your trap! Boys, come out of there  _NOW!_ ”  
  
The boys came running out. One of them was trying to drag his friend with him, but all he had left with him was a thorn off arm. Xander heard Jane feeding on the remains. The boys all huddled behind him, too terrified to run further.  
  
Xander pulled Jane’s post box up from the earth and held the pole before him like a spear. Then he started walking towards the trailer door. He saw Jane hunched over the dead boy. Blood flowed down the front of the boy’s shirt. Jane turned and looked at Xander with her catlike eyes. Then she pounced, accidently impaling herself on the pole of her own post box. Her ashes blew into Xander’s face.  
  
Andrew and the boys greeted him with applause as he came out. “The mighty Xander triumphs again!”  
  
“Andrew!” Xander was furious. “My friend is dead. So is one of your boys.”  
  
The tumbleweed came tumbling back. Andrew looked at his shoelaces.  
  
“Is Jason really dead?” One of the boys asked. “Was it not a trick?”  
  
“You’re so easily fooled. Jason was  _in on it_.”  
  
“The arm I am holding is not rubber. It is warm and it is … it is  _bleeding_.”  
  
“It is fake!”  
  
“Is not. Hold it!”  
  
“I don’t wanna.”  
  
“I am not holding it.”  
  
“Then put it down.”  
  
“I can’t put Jason on the ground. We need to find a casket.”  
  
Xander rubbed his temples, trying to think over all the chatter. “Andrew, you have a bus. Where is it?”  
  
“There is someone over here, too!” One of the boys was standing in the doorway of another trailer. “Same marks!”  
  
“Then get away from there!” Xander shouted.  
  
“Should we not do something? To stop them from rising?”  
  
“Put garlic in their mouths!”  
  
“Is there a vampire in all of these trailers?”  
  
“Probably!”  
  
“Should I put Jason’s arm next to his body?”  
  
“Will Jason become a vampire?”  
  
“If so, we should probably take his other arm as well.”  
  
“And his teeth!”  
  
“Just the canines!”  
  
“How will you manage that? He has braces.”  
  
“Then we take all of them.”  
  
“Can we give him his soul back?”  
  
“Xander?” Xander looked and saw Andrew staring up at him. “Do you remember what it was like? Making a difference?” Andrew asked him.  
  
“Yes…”  
  
“All these vampires. They could do a whole lot of damage when they rise.”  
  
“True…”  
  
“If we dust them, then we will be heroes again.”  
  
“If we do not run for the bus, we will likely be eaten.”  
  
Andrew put a hand on each of Xander’s shoulders. “When was the last time you felt  _alive,_  Xander?”  
  
Xander pushed Andrew’s arms away. “I get your point, but this could get messy. The only thing we could do is burn the trailers down. Many of the trailers have gas ovens and lots of liquor.”  
  
Andrew turned towards the crowd of boys. “Run into the trailers, turn on the gas and light a fire.”  
  
Xander smacked the back of Andrew’s head. “Are you insane?” He looked at the dispersing group of boys. “Come back,” he shouted at them. They ignored him. “This was a terrible idea. It is never going to work.”  
  
The boys ran around, breaking liquor bottles and lighting the trailers on fire. Some burnt slowly. Other lit up quickly.  
  
“We should probably move out of the park and upwind,” Xander said. “The smoke is not going to be healthy.”  
  
Xander grabbed Andrew and started moving out of the park. He shouted for the boys to join them. They started to come after. Some were carrying weapons they had found. Shotguns, revolvers, baseball bats, hockey sticks.  
  
“Did you see anyone rise?” Xander asked.  
  
“Not yet,” was the answer.  
  
“Did you check if they were bit? You did not set my neighbours on fire for nothing?”  
  
“All that  _I_  saw were.”  
  
“Because the people who live here,” Xander explained, “can look quite dead when they sleep. But they usually wake up again.”  
  
An explosion knocked them off their feet. The gas bottles in one of the trailers had caught fire.  
  
“Jesus Christ.” Xander dusted himself off. “Was anyone hurt?”  
  
It appeared not. The rest of the boys came running after them. Xander picked up the pace. There was an uncountable amount of trailers. Trying to burn them all down was a silly idea.  
  
“I threw Jason’s arm on the pyre.”  
  
“Like a Viking’s death.”  
  
“Should we get the rest of him?”  
  
“A lonely arm in Valhalla!”  
  
“The rest of him will wander the earth undead.”  
  
Xander struck his palm against his brow. “Andrew, where did you get these sickos?”  
  
“I told you,” Andrew answered. “At Comic-Con.”  
  
The door to a trailer opened. A man with obscenely bushy sideburns stepped out. “Xander,” he hollered. “Any chance for a poker game?”  
  
“I am all out of dough, Nigel,” Xander answered. “You look a little pale. Do you feel all right?”  
  
“About as bad as I usually do,” Nigel answered.  
  
“Xander,” one of the boys said. “This man is clearly a vampire.”  
  
“I  _know_  that,” Xander hissed through his teeth.  
  
“A vampire?” Nigel looked confused. “I am not a vampire.”  
  
“Do you feel hungry, Nigel? A little peckish?”  
  
“Maybe…”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“The flesh of the living … damn!”  
  
Xander held out his arm. “Hand me that shotgun,” he said.  
  
Andrew held up his arm, too. “The Lone Ranger needs a revolver.”  
  
Nigel held his arms up defensively. “Xander, let’s talk about this. I am not going to eat  _you._ ”  
  
Xander received the shotgun, checked the shells in the barrel, cocked and locked it. “You’re not?”  
  
“Is it not possible for me to regain my humanity? I have been through worse than this. We both have.”  
  
Xander spat. “Sure… Get a soul, sleep with my best friend, just keep your distance.”  
  
“It is just…” Nigel shifted from side to side. “I am so very hungry. Could you not give me one of those boys to nibble on?”  
  
Xander lifted the shotgun. “You’ll be eating lead if you do not move out of our way.”  
  
Andrew stood next to Xander with his new revolver. “The Lone Ranger never misses.”  
  
“This is soooo fucking cool,” Xander heard from behind them.  
  
Nigled laughed. “Xander, old pal. There are so many more of us than there are of you.”  
  
Xander looked around. The other residents had risen from their beds and were coming towards them. Behind them, someone was screaming, likely because they were on fire. Another trailer exploded, sending a shockwave towards them.  
  
“Xander…” Andrew’s voice shook. “Do you know how in vampire movies, there are just one vampire, while in zombie movies, there are many zombies.  _This_  is so  _unfair_.”  
  
“Run,” Xander whispered. “Run and fight for your lives.”  
  
They ran. The vampires leapt on them. The boys fought with everything at hand, but the vampires were stronger. The revolver could not kill them, but the .50-caliber bullets did much to slow them down. The shotgun managed to pacify them, at least for a while.  
  
“These vampires are not as quick as I remember,” Andrew remarked.  
  
“What did you expect?” Xander said. “They are all junkies and alcoholics.”  
  
Xander received a punch across his cheek. Blood flew from his mouth. A vampire threw him against the wall of a trailer, then pulled him backward, so he landed flat on the ground. Xander tried to reach for his gun, but the vampire pounced on him and bit into his neck. He heard Andrew shouting.  
  
****  
  
Buffy grabbed Willow and Willow grabbed her back. They fell into the erupting volcano. The smoke filled Buffy’s mouth and nostrils. Their fall began slowing down. The hot air coming from deep inside the crater lifted them upwards. They span around. Buffy’s head fell backwards. She held onto Willow for dear life, digging her nails into the back of Willow’s hemp shirt. They span faster and faster. Buffy no longer felt Willow’s shirt, she was holding right onto her skin. The molecules in their bodies were separating. The fabric of their being tore itself apart and dissipated into dust. They were no longer separate. They were the same cloud of ashes floating high above the volcano. The wind blew their essence north, back to America.  
  
Buffy could not hear or see. Her ears and eyes were gone. But she could feel. She felt Willow drinking from a water fountain. Then Willow looked up, and she saw herself. So much younger.  
  
Several more memories flashed before her mind. Most of them were her own, while some seemed to be Willow’s. One of these memories was a memory of pain … long lasting pain finally replaced by relief … love … a sense of great accomplishment. Buffy lay in a hospital bed. Matt was sitting on the edge, holding her hand. “I sometimes envy you women,” the doctor said as he lay little Bobby in her arms. “Your gift … your gift is  _life._ ” Matt kissed her cheek, Bobby cried and Buffy felt an entire universe on fire.  
  
Buffy and Willow came together again. At first, they were just one blob of wet clay falling into a river. They sunk towards the bottom and the stream pulled them with it. Buffy reached out and her arm took separate form from Willow’s arm. Her legs struggled to propel her back towards the surface. For a while, it was as though she had four legs, but soon she had only two. Instinct told her to breathe, but her lungs could not separate oxygen from the muddy river water.  
  
It was impossible to see. Buffy caught some reeds in her hands and used them to pull herself up towards the bank. Willow had caught her by the waist. Buffy could feel her friend’s grip weakening. The terror of drowning gave her the strength to drag the both of them up to the surface. It was still night. A cold wind blew straight through Buffy’s soaked shirt and denim jeans. Dirty tufts of hair struck against her teary eyes, making it impossible to see.  
  
Once Buffy could breathe normally, she looked to her side and saw Willow lying face down in the mud. She rolled her friend onto her back. Water came pouring out of Willow’s mouth and nose. Buffy was relieved when she started coughing and gasping for air.  
  
“What happened?” Willow asked.  
  
Buffy lay down beside her and they both looked up at the stars. “I don’t know,” she said. “We survived, but I will kill your sorry ass once this numbness goes away.”  
  
“Is this the first time you’ve seen the stars from outside a city?” Willow asked. “I can show you the star signs. The Inca constellations, of course”  
  
“Do that,” Buffy mumbled. “And I will see if I can reach a reed to stab you with.”  
  
Willow turned to look at her. “I know that was not very pleasant, but let’s not fight. At least not until the shock passes.”  
  
Buffy rolled away. “I don’t wanna be this close to you right now.”  
  
She tried to stand up. It was a struggle. A cold had set into her legs, making the strain from yesterday’s mountain hike apparent.  
  
Willow still lay on her back. “I am so dizzy,” she said dreamily. “But it is a good kind of dizzy. Like a comfortable high.”  
  
“Get up or you’ll freeze to death,” Buffy scoffed.  
  
Willow rolled onto her knees and stood up. The mud dripping from her hair and clothes made her look like a swamp monster. Unlike Buffy, she was not shivering. Her knitwear seemed to keep her bearably warm.  
  
“Are you gonna explain yourself?” Buffy demanded.  
  
Willow looked at her feet … or towards them, at least. She was almost knee deep in mud. “I did. In my dream journal. But I think I left it in Limbo. The ethereal version anyway.”  
  
“Don’t be cute. Where are we?”  
  
Willow shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea.” She lifted her hands and parted her hair like curtains from a window. “A place with sandy dunes and rocks. A desert.”  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. “Can’t you tell me anything else?”  
  
A small trickle of blood leaked from Willow’s left nostril. She wiped her face with her sleeve, making it dirtier than it already was. “Xander, should be here,” she said. Buffy saw that she was swaying ever so slightly, as if she was about to lose her balance.  
  
Buffy waited for Willow to continue. When she didn’t, she asked, “Willow, are you all right?”  
  
Willow started as if she had been momentarily lost in thought. “Huh? Yes! I see. Oh, Xander.” Willow looked sad. “He threw the watch I gave him into this river.” She fell down to her knees, making a splash in the wet mud of the bank.  
  
“Watch?”  
  
“I sent him a watch for his birthday, just before I went to South America. It was really expensive. It cost me all I had left of the money we stole to fund the vampire war.” Willow sobbed. “I cast a spell on it, turning it into a magical beacon, so that I could find him whenever I wanted.”  
  
“Willow?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“How do you know Xander  _threw_  the watch into the river?”  
  
“Because it must… oh!” A look of terrible realisation filled Willow’s face and her eyes became twice their normal size. “XANDER!”  
  
She leapt to her feet and was about to dive into the river, before Buffy pulled her back. Buffy almost had her safely up on land, when she received Willow’s elbow to her mouth. Willow ran for the water again, but Buffy rolled after her and grabbed her ankle. She was able to dodge the horse’s kick that came.  
  
“Willow, stop!” Buffy crawled on top of Willow’s back to keep her from getting up. “If Xander is down there, then he is dead. So will you be, if you go back in.”  
  
“It cannot be,” Willow sobbed. “It cannot only be  _me_  left.”  
  
“What about me? I’m here!”  
  
“Are you really?” Willow asked as she struggled to keep her face above the watery mud. “Buff, can you get off now? We are sinking.”  
  
Buffy got up from Willow’s back and helped her friend to her feet. Very little of Willow was visible. From top to toe, she was covered in a thick layer of dripping filth.  
  
“I would wipe some of this off,” Willow said, “but no part of me is clean.”  
  
They climbed out of the bank. It was difficult. Their legs sank into the wet mud. Buffy slipped and had to climb the last part on her hands and knees. They made it to dry land. A howling wind blew through the dunes. It kicked up dry dust that attached itself to the wet mud that stuck to Willow’s clothes. Buffy felt the wind blow right through her thin shirt and jeans and all the way into her bones.  
  
“We’re gonna die,” Buffy said. She was not exaggerating.  
  
Willow pulled at her shirt. “My clothes are quite stretchy. If you could fit inside, we could dig ourselves into the sand and keep each other warm until tomorrow.”  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Let’s exhaust our other options first.”  
  
“You brought wet cotton clothes to a late night desert hike,” Willow said. “You would have less chance of freezing to death if you were naked. Do you want to borrow my shirt for a while?”  
  
Buffy patted her arms with her hands. “And who brought us to this desert and dropped us inside a river?” she scoffed.  
  
Willow held up her hands defensively. “That is all on me,” she admitted, “but the outfit is all on you. Only someone borne in LA would go into the rainforest in a cheap shirt from H&M. Do you think Giles wore tweed blazers on his hikes?”  
  
“I am not undressing unless my fingers turn blue,” Buffy declared. “If Xander came here to throw his watch away … then there must be a road nearby.”  
  
Willow made a strange face. “We … we could perhaps ask that nice old man coming over the hill for help.” She put her hands over her mouth. “It’s…”  
  
Buffy turned and saw a bearded old man stumble down the rocky slope. It was clear from his gait that the half-empty bottle of Jack that he swung in his arm was not his first drink of the day. His features were hard and strange. His catlike eyes caught sight of Buffy and he licked his fangs with his tongue.  
  
Willow pushed Buffy before her. “You want to be a slayer again? This should be good practice!”  
  
“Willow, I can hardly walk,” Buffy protested, “let alone fight.”  
  
“He does not look so good, either.”  
  
“Can’t you hex him?”  
  
Willow rolled her eyes at Buffy. “That’s not how magic works.”  
  
Buffy frowned. “Tell me, how  _does_  magic actually work?”  
  
“With nosebleed, headaches, dead friends and tears in reality. When the Wicca says she won’t hex, then don’t push her. Now go get him, Tiger.”  
  
“Are you refusing to use magic, just to test me? This is not a good time.”  
  
“I have been warming my hands with my breath, hoping for the flexibility to retie my shoe laces. No spells.” Willow looked towards the vampire. He was closing in. “You take him from the front. I will strike him from behind.”  
  
The vampire gave them a hungry look. Buffy thought he looked a little unsure of himself, as if he did not know what he was supposed to be doing at this point. Just then, a loud bang echoed across the dunes. It sounded like a large explosion. The bearded vampire turned and looked. Buffy took the opportunity to yank the whiskey bottle from his hand and hit him across the head with it. The bottle shattered into thousand sharp pieces and left a bleeding wound in the back of the vampire’s head.  
  
“My head! You broke my head!” The vampire turned back towards Buffy and Willow. “What did you do that for?”  
  
Buffy and Willow looked at each other. Willow was the first to speak. “To stop you from eating us.”  
  
“Eat you?” The vampire sounded surprised. “Maybe I should. It would be just what you deserve.”  
  
Willow spoke again. “Hey, mister. Before we fight, could I ask you … where do you plan to go in the morning? To hide from the sun?”  
  
“Hide from the sun?” The vampire scratched his head. “I guess I’ll go sleep in my trailer until my eyes can handle the sunlight again.”  
  
Willow’s eyes shone. “And where is your trailer, mister?”  
  
The man pointed excitedly in the direction of the recent explosion. “Over at Dead Man’s Trailer Park.”  
  
Willow took Buffy by the hand. “We are two ol’ gals lookin’ to party and maybe donate some blood. A trailer park sounds like the perfect place for us.”  
  
The vampire scratched his head again. He seemed to have some problem thinking with a cracked skull. “Sure,” he said finally. “Follow me.”  
  
He started walking or climbing back up the dune. Buffy and Willow followed behind.  
  
“Stake him,” Willow whispered.  
  
“With what?” Buffy whispered back.  
  
They came to the top of the hill. It would have been too dark to see the trailer park, had it not been for the trailers that were on fire. The sound of gunshots echoed among the dunes.  
  
“Sounds like quite the party,” Willow said to the vampire.  
  
“Maybe a little too rough for you,” the vampire said. “Perhaps we should have our own party right here.” He held up his hands and bared his fangs.  
  
Willow screamed and started running down the slope towards the trailer park. Buffy followed close behind.  
  
“When chased by a bear,” Willow shouted over her shoulder, “always run downwards.”  
  
“He is a vampire, not a bear,” Buffy corrected her, fearing she would feel the vampire’s claws on her neck at any moment.  
  
Willow stopped. The vampire came rolling past them like a snowball.  
  
“His spirit animal is definitely a bear,” Willow said as they watched the vampire roll out of view. “I read it on his aura.”  
  
“His aura?”  
  
“Didn’t you see the size of his belly? Or his bushy beard? Total bear.” She made a wry smile. “Andrew used to leave copies of  _Bear Magazine_  in his work desk.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “He is a vampire. The fall did not kill him.”  
  
“I am more worried about what is going on down at the trailer park. Gang war?”  
  
“I am not Sherlock Holmes,” Buffy said. “But I deduce that half of the people fighting are vampires and the rest are not.”  
  
“That is not an unreasonable assumption,” Willow conceded. “By the way, I am not Dr Watson. I am Miss Marple.” She looked at Buffy. “Too much coded gayness in the Watson/Holmes relationship. Would be awkward.”  
  
Buffy frowned. “So,” she said. “What do we do?”  
  
Willow shrugged. “If we stay here, you will freeze to death and I will be eaten by vampire bear, once he wakes up again. I say we run into the fray.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “All right, but let’s be careful.”  
  
Another trailer blew up. Buffy turned away from the blaze and saw Willow’s pale skin turn orange for a second.  
  
“Fine by me,” Willow said. “Careful how?”  
  
“All right, let’s just get down there before we freeze to death.”  
  
****  
  
“Xander is down. All men to the mighty Xander’s side!”  
  
Xander felt blood flow from his neck. He tried to push his attacker off, but it was to no avail. Only when five of Andrew’s boys had come to help him, did Xander manage to roll free of the vampire’s grasp. Andrew fired his revolver, hitting the vampire in its shoulder. It stood up and roared like a lion.  
  
“Take this, muthafucka,” Xander said as he cocked his shotgun and fired a hail of lead into the vampire’s belly, throwing it back towards one of the burning trailers. In seconds, it was ash.  
  
Xander dropped his gun, tore off the edge of his sleeve and tied it around his neck like a scarf, stopping the bleeding. Two more vampires came running round the corner of a trailer. Xander knelt down and picked up his gun. He hated killing the women. The men were easier somehow. He aimed his gun at the closest one. It was covered in so much wet mud that it looked like a swamp monster. It waved its arms at him. Called his name. It was … “Willow!”  
  
Buffy was right behind her. She walked over to one of Andrew’s boys, took the hockey stick from his hands and broke it in half across her knee. “There are more vampires coming,” She gave one half of the stick back to the boy and kept the other. “We need to get out of here.”  
  
“Xander!”  
  
“Willow!”  
  
“Could you … could you lower the gun, please?”  
  
Xander dropped his gun and Willow came running into his arms. The feeling of her muddy hair against his cheek was truly disgusting. Her shirt looked, felt and smelled as if it had been made from materials found at the bottom of a swampy pond. Not that he minded. He was not always so fresh himself, waking up as often in a ditch as in his own bed. He squeezed her tightly.  
  
Willow eventually pulled back. She grabbed his left wrist. “Where is the watch, you dooofus?”  
  
“In my nightstand.”  
  
“You dirty liar!”  
  
“Dirty?” Xander stood up. “Did you crawl here through the sewer pipes?” He looked around. “I mean sewer ditches. No pipes around here.”  
  
Willow punched him in the chest. “Have you never read a fairy tale? When the witch gives you something valuable, you keep it.”  
  
Xander rested the shotgun on his shoulder. “And when your best friend sends you a watch in the mail on your birthday with a letter, saying she is moving to the Amazonian rainforest, giving no phone number or address, what do you do then?” He looked down. “I could not keep it anymore. I had to accept that you were gone.”  
  
“The watch was the phone number,” Willow mumbled. Then she looked up and smiled. “I forgive you, Xander. Forgive me back?”  
  
“You brought our Messiah,” Xander said, pointing at Buffy. “Of course, I forgive you.”  
  
Willow made an awkward face. “Xander, Buffy may be a little rusty.”  
  
“Hello, Xander.”  
  
Xander forced himself to make eye contact with Buffy. It was not easy. Her expression was icy.  
  
“Buffy, it has been two decades. Ease up.”  
  
“Buffy,” Willow said. “It’s Xander…”  
  
“I see him,” Buffy said. “Dear old Xander. He has obviously turned his life around. Dead Man’s Trailer Park? Lovely place. Can’t wait to see it in daylight.” She looked around at Andrew’s boys. “Who are all these people?”  
  
Xander bit his lip in frustration. “This,” he said, “is the last remaining Scooby squad.”  
  
Buffy’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  
  
“Don’t look at me,” Willow said. “I had no idea.”  
  
“You are fighting vampires? With these  _boys?_ ”  
  
“It is not the stubble on the chin that makes a man a man,” Xander said. “Does the acne on their cheeks undermine their bravery?”  
  
Andrew stepped forward. “These proud men have sworn undying loyalty to the Lone Ranger and the mighty Xander. They were not chosen for this task. They left their parents’ basements and their college dorms willingly to fight that which lurks in the night.”  
  
Willow punched Buffy in the shoulder. “This is what happens when you take a twenty year sabbatical. Andrew becomes Che Guevara.”  
  
Buffy looked from Xander to Andew and back. “All right,” she sighed. “I am not going to ask what on earth is going on. Do you have a plan for surviving this?”  
  
Xander looked around. He could make out the figures of stumbling vampire junkies in the light cast by the still burning trailers.  
  
“Now that you are here, I was hoping you would just kill the rest,” he said.  
  
Buffy sighed. “Like Willow said, I am a little rusty.”  
  
“Ranger,” Xander said to Andrew. “Where did you park the Scooby-Mobile?”  
  
“The Scooby-Mob…? Ah!” Andrew looked around in the dark. “I am not sure. By the road, I guess.”  
  
“And that would be this way.” Xander turned and found himself pointing at a host of charging vampires. “But we are going the other way. Rangers to me,” he commanded, before running for his life, hoping the others would follow him.  
  
As he ran across the rocky ground, Xander realised there was a place where they could go. An old Catholic chapel lay up in the hills. The vampires would have trouble coming inside, because of the crosses, crucifixes and holy statuary. He just hoped the parties that had taken place inside had not desanctified it.  
  
Buffy ran up to his side. “I just wanted you to know,” she said, panting. “If we die, tonight. I don’t hate you, Xander.”  
  
“Not even a little?”  
  
“Not a lot, but I love you more. You have earned that.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“We’re slowing down. They’ll catch us soon.”  
  
“I know,” Xander said, trying to sound confident. “There is a safe house just on the top of this hill. We just need to make it up this slope.”  
  
“In that case…” Buffy stopped. “I’ll meet you there.”  
  
“Buffy!?”  
  
Buffy held the hockey stake high. “I may not be super girl, anymore, but I will  _not_  be upstaged by Andrew." She looked down towards Willow and the others. "Willow, get Andrew and the boy scouts up the hill.”  
  
“Buffy,” Xander grabbed Buffy’s wrist. “The only way for us to make it up is by letting the vampires eat the slowest runner.” He looked down. There were still a few “rangers” that had not caught up. The vampires were just behind them.  
  
“I am going in last,” Buffy said, determined.  
  
“Then I’ll go in next to last,” Xander said, almost as determined.  
  
Willow, Andrew and a few others ran past them. They stopped a little further up the hill. “Eh, Xander,” Andrew called. “Was there a particular place you were leading us to?”  
  
“There is a chapel just up the hill,” Xander called back.  
  
“Where?”  
  
Buffy smiled at Xander. “Go up and prepare a barricade. Make sure Willow makes it.”  
  
“I can do that,” Xander said.  
  
The vampires had almost caught them. Xander ran up towards Andrew and Willow. Andrew fired at the vampires. One of the shots did not miss. It hit the closest vampire in the brow and caused him to trip and fall. Buffy came after, but she was running slowly, making sure the last “rangers” could catch up with her.  
  
As they came to the plateau, Xander saw to his surprise that candles were burning inside the old chapel. The door stood ajar. An old wreck of a car stood parked at the back. There was no time to wait and think. They had to get inside. Xander, Willow, Andrew and several others stormed through the door.  
  
“Deputy Sheriff Pepper!?”  
  
The sheriff lay against the chapel shrine. A waiflike woman sat perched upon him. Blood trickled from a bite mark inside the middle of the sheriff’s horrible rash. The woman turned towards Xander and the others. Blood ran down the sides of her mouth.  
  
“Kitten!”  
  
It was Drusilla.  
  
“Raise your hand if you think this guided tour is getting a little bit too real,” one of the “rangers” said.  
  
Andrew put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “At ease soldier. This is a monster from legend. Let’s watch and see what the mighty Xander will do.”  
  
Xander threw up his arms. “Nothing. I will do nothing. I am gonna stand here and wait to be gang banged from two directions.”  
  
Drusilla wiped the edged of her mouth with her long nailed fingers. “The copperman did not taste nice,” she complained.  
  
“You fed on Deputy Sheriff Pepper!?” Xander looked like he was gonna throw up. “Legends say his grandfather brought HIV to the west coast. His blood is more chemically diverse than that of any lab rat.”  
  
Drusilla rubbed her tummy. “I am not feeling very well”  
  
Xander put his hand on his waist. “I am not surprised. Go home and sleep it off. Tomorrow night you can eat a real estate agent or something. Scratch that. Try a Mormon Missionary. They’re safe.”  
  
Willow looked at Xander. “Did you not read the report from the mission to Utah?”  
  
Xander sighed. “I only have on eye, so I only read half of the reports. Perhaps we should talk about your dealings with the Council of Fifty another time.”  
  
“We enjoyed watching your bonfires,” Drusilla said. “It has been a good night.”  
  
“It has indeed,” Xander said. “Almost time to say good day.”  
  
“Wouldn’t wanna be caught in the sunlight,” Drusilla said and broke into a howl of cackling laughter.  
  
At that moment, Buffy came flying into the room. She hit the floor hard and rolled right into the innermost wall. A trail of blood was left in her wake. A vampire from outside pounced upon her and bit into her arm. Xander grabbed a bust of Jesús Malverde and hit the vampire in the head with it. Once, twice, thrice, fouce? fivce? Xander lost count, but the vampire’s skull eventually cracked and the beast turned to dust.  
  
Buffy jumped to her feet. “We need to make a barricade,” she said. She slammed the doors shut. “Gather any crosses or crucifixes. Look for bottled water.”  
  
“Buffy…”  
  
“Not now, Xander.”  
  
“Buffy…”  
  
“Buffy, dear.” Drusilla put her cold hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “I have had a looong night. Would you mind letting me out?”  
  
Buffy gaped. She stood frozen as Drusilla walked past her, opened the door and disappeared into the night.  
  
It was Andrew who finally slammed the door shut again. It was just in time, because they immediately started hearing the sounds of someone clawing at the other side. Willow began handing out crosses to the “rangers” and positioned them by the windows. Buffy took the large crucifix that stood atop the shrine. She held it in her left hand. Her right hand looked limp and bloodied.  
  
“I should never have come on this trip," one of the "rangers" said. "I onlt went to Comic-Con to get a selfie with Lucy Lawless.”  
  
“If Lucy hears about this,” Andrew said to his ranger. “She will be asking you out on a date.”  
  
“What time is it?” Buffy asked.  
  
Xander looked at his wrist, but his watch was gone.  
  
“Oh-five-fifty-five,” Andrew said.  
  
“Go home vampires,” Willow shouted. “It is almost sunrise.”  
  
An arm broke through a window and yanked the crucifix from the hands of a "ranger". The vampire was too fat too make it inside. Xander fired his shotgun at him.  
  
“Out of ammo,” he said. “Shotgun becomes baseball bat.”  
  
Buffy and two “rangers” were trying to keep the door closed. The hinges were starting to come lose. It was only a moment of time before the vampires were inside.  
  
“Have none of you seen a vampire movie,” Willow shouted at the invaders. “The sun is coming to fry you. You won’t all fit inside this chapel.”  
  
“None of these people are particularly smart, Willow,” Xander said. “Trust me.”  
  
The door broke down. Buffy had to back away several paces to get enough momentum to swing her heavy crucifix at them with her one good arm. The vampires hissed. One of the “rangers” remained too close to the door. Three vampires pulled him outside. Two others came storming in. The crucifix and crosses pained and confused them. Xander swung his shotgun at their heads. The vampires started retreating towards the door.  
  
“I cannot carry this thing anymore,” Buffy said and handed her crucifix to Willow.  
  
Willow charged at the vampires, using the crucifix as a battering ram. The vampires roared as the holy wood burned them. Andrew came up behind Willow and helped push her forwards. The vampires tripped and fell on the threshold.  
  
“Not so fast, Andrew,” Willow screamed. “Pull me back. Pull me back!”  
  
More vampires came storming in. Willow and Andrew were thrown backwards into the room, getting the heavy crucifix on top of them.  
  
“Form a protective circle in the corner,” Buffy shouted.  
  
Everyone backed away as far as they could, creating a Scooby-Ranger sandwich in the corner with Deputy Sheriff Pepper at the bottom.  
  
“Xander, you are laying on the crucifix. The crucifix needs to be on top.”  
  
The battle that followed was hardly dignified. Our heroes lay in a pile. The vampires tried to pull the crosses and crucifixes from their hands. The chapel room was way too small for all the vampires that had come inside. Soon, everyone was rolling around on top of each other on the floor.  
  
Suddenly, Deputy Sheriff Pepper stood up. “Richard!” he shouted at one of the vampires. Spit was flying from his mouth. “You thought you could jump bail? After that stunt you pulled?”  
  
He threw himself at the vampire, causing both of them to land upon Andrew and Willow. Buffy pierced the vampire’s heart with a broken candlestick.  
  
“Richard! Where did you go?” Deputy Sheriff Pepper screamed. He went out the door, tripping several times on "rangers" and vampires. Two seconds later he came back in. “Blasted sun. Where are my sunglasses?”  
  
Nobody answered. Xander was laying against the wall, underneath a pile of ash. Willow’s head leant against his shoulder. Andrew lay panting across his lap. Buffy was sitting across the room, clutching her right hand with her left. The shrine was completely destroyed. The walls and floor were painted with blood. The cold wind blew into the chapel, causing the ash to whirl up in their faces.


	7. Faith, Spike & Dick

****

### Chapter 6 - Faith, Spike & Dick

“Perhaps I should take that for you.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“Are you sure? You may hurt your back, old man.”  
  
“Just move out the way before my arms come off.”  
  
“Pass it to me.”  
  
“No! Move!”  
  
“Don’t be an idiot. Gimme!”  
  
Faith held out her hands and received the heavy chest from Angel. “Oh shit! That’s heavy.”  
  
“Then put it down,” Angel said as he climbed down the final steps of the attic ladder.  
  
“I am taking it to the car,” Faith declared.  
  
Angel looked at her. “You sure you’re all right?”  
  
“I’m five by… Just get the damn door for me.”  
  
Faith carried the chest out and put it in the boot of Angel’s car. It was an impressive feat, but Angel could see that her arms were shaking. Faith was strong, though maybe not quite as strong as she once had been. Everyone was so much older – ex-vampires and ex-slayers alike.  
  
“I’ll go get the key…”  
  
It was too late. Faith had already picked up a stone and smashed the padlock to pieces. The lid sprang open. A cloud of old dust dispersed to reveal the swords, axes and maces hidden inside.  
  
“They look a little blunt,” Angel said.  
  
“I like blunt,” Faith said. “Blunt goes smash instead of slash.”  
  
Angel smiled at her. “It takes a lot of strength to  _smash_  a vampire to death.”  
  
Faith held up her arms and flexed them. “You doubt I have what it takes, boss?”  
  
“Do you remember when I was just Angel to you?”  
  
“I remember, boss. Good times. Too bad they had to end.”  
  
They got in the car. Angel took the driver’s seat, while Faith rode shotgun. She kept the shotgun broken across her knee to keep it from accidently firing as they drove.  
  
“So, boss?” Faith said, as they drove from Angel’s flat towards downtown LA. “Are we gunning for Drusilla tonight?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Angel said. “I have been trying to find my old contacts from my … er … detective days.” He sighed. “Of course, it’s been a while, and after the demonic genocide, they are all dead or gone.”  
  
Faith spat out the window. “Don’t call it a genocide,” she scoffed. “It was war. They gave almost as well as they took.”  
  
“Never mind the semantics. We are here and they are all gone. All except Drusilla and her minions, that is.”  
  
“So where are we going now?”  
  
“I stuck my ear to the ground, went to the old vampire watering holes. It was not long before I started hearing rumours.”  
  
“Rumours of what?”  
  
“I think I know the location of a nest,” Angel said. “If we are lucky, it is the  _only_  nest. Then we can finish this tonight.”  
  
Faith lit a cigarette. “And go back to our jolly lives.”  
  
Angel plucked the cigarette from Faith’s mouth and threw it out the window. “Not in the car. I drive Connor’s kids in this car.” He looked over at Faith and saw her scowl back at him. “You know,” he said. “We don’t have to lose contact again. We almost became friends once, didn’t we?”  
  
“Did we? Or were I just a stepping stone on your quest to regain your humanity?”  
  
“There is no reason you, too, could not join regular society. You do not need to live in the gutter.”  
  
“We all live in the gutter, boss man, but some of us are looking up at the stars.” Faith sighed. “There is the issue of my criminal past.”  
  
“Gunn can help you with that.”  
  
“I need a shrink for that, not a lawyer. The police was never the problem.” She looked discerningly at Angel. “How did you get over everything you have done all of a sudden? Bit of a radical change from ol’ bleedin’ heart Angel.”  
  
“I didn’t.”  
  
Faith smacked him. “Yes, you did. You can’t lie to me.”  
  
Angel hesitated. Faith was speaking the truth. Angelus seemed like a nightmare – a story he remembered, but felt no connection to. It was even weird hearing the name Angel again. Kate had insisted on using it, even though all his new friends called him Liam. Liam had not saved the world, nor had he slaughtered innocents for pleasure. Liam was just Liam, and he had a son named Connor. Being with Faith made him feel like he was Angel again, more than being with Kate had done. Perhaps he needed to feel he was Angel to get at Drusilla.  
  
“I was forgiven,” he said. “So I chose to finally forgive myself.”  
  
“Forgiven,” Faith grunted, “by the ****in’ Powers Th…”  
  
Angel hit the brakes hard. “We’re here!”  
  
Faith jumped out of the car and closed her shotgun.  
  
“Are you gonna use that thing against the vampires?” Angel asked.  
  
Faith smiled. “It is fun to hear them scream, but it may not be all that effective.” She handed the gun to Angel. “Maybe you should take it, boss. Your swordarm may be a little stiff.”  
  
Angel took the shotgun. “I miss Wesley,” he caught himself saying.  
  
“Me too,” Faith sighed.  
  
She walked behind the car and opened the boot. Whistling a tune, she started rummaging through the weaponry.  
  
“There are no stakes,” she complained. “Just metal.”  
  
“Then you decapitate.”  
  
“I am sure you could get better stuff than this at a renaissance fair.”  
  
Angel turned towards the old factory building. His human eyes could not see too well in the dark, and he was becoming near sighted. The light from the street lamps only reached so far. There seemed to be people walking on the roof and on the walls. It occurred to Angel that he and Faith might be somewhat outnumbered. Then the factory doors swung open. Angel saw the silhouette of a man emerge.  
  
“Faith,” Angel said. “Someone is coming.”  
  
“Vampire?”  
  
“Not sure.”  
  
The man walked closer towards Angel and Faith, but he did not see them. He seemed preoccupied. His gait was unsteady, as if drunk. Angel thought he could hear him muttering something under his breath – something rhythmic, like poetry. The light from a passing car illuminated the man for a moment. Angel could see that it was a skinny man with hollow cheeks, bleached hair, wearing a red shirt.  
  
“Spike!”  
  
Spike looked towards him and tilted his head. “Angel boy! You look awful, old chap.”  
  
Angel folded his arms. “Don’t look all that well yourself.”  
  
“I’m a little hungover,” Spike explained. “Been sleeping a long time.”  
  
Angel looked sternly at him. “Spike, what are you doing here? Are you back with Dru?”  
  
Spike scoffed. “Of course not. I am  _good,_  remember?”  
  
Angel raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing here? Why are there new vampires walking about? The slayers spared you, because … you know … you helped kill all the vampires.”  
  
“Those vampires?” Spike pointed up on the wall. “I am not with them. I am just scouting the place out.”  
  
As he spoke, the doors to the factory opened again. A scantily clad woman came out. She walked unsteadily on stiletto heels, but somehow managed not to spill the drink she was carrying. Her eyes wandered until she saw Spike.  
  
“Here is your bloody Mary, boss!”  
  
Spike hiccupped. “Thanks, luv!”  
  
Angel narrowed his eyes. “Boss?”  
  
Spike covered the side of his mouth with his hand. “I am  _deep_  undercover,” he whispered really loudly.  
  
Angel moved closer. “Spike, you better explain yourself.”  
  
One side of Spike’s mouth curved into a smile. “Or what?” He suddenly seemed a little more awake than before.  
  
For the first time, Angel almost regretted being human. “Or I will let the Slayer loose on you.”  
  
Spike held up his hands in mock terror. “This one? I fought and killed her sisters, back when that epithet meant something.”  
  
The serving girl looked jittery. “Should I call for the others, boss?”  
  
“No need,” Spike said. “These are old friends. Go back inside.”  
  
“Spike you need to tell me what you are doing her with a gang of vampire lackeys!”  
  
Spike lit a cigarette. “Not much. I have been waiting here for you Scoobies to show up.”  
  
Angel groaned. “We’re not the Scoobies. We’re Angel Investigations.”  
  
Faith kicked Angel in the shin. “… and I am his best friend Faith.”  
  
Spike rubbed his hands. “All right. So we have Angel Investigations and his slayer bodyguard. Where is the Buff?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You heard me.” Spike peered into the shadows. “Where is Buffy?”  
  
Angel shrugged. “Buffy is not here. Why would Buffy be here?”  
  
Spike snickered. “Are you saying Buffy is not here in LA? Did you come here all by yourselves?” He looked them over. “You are serious? Buffy’s not here?”  
  
“She’s not here.”  
  
“Then go get her and come back!” Spike sipped his bloody Mary, removed the umbrella, and drank the whole glass down.  
  
“We’re not leaving,” Faith said. “We’re going in.”  
  
“We’re after Drusilla.”  
  
Spike looked at them strangely. Then he laughed. “I knew it. You are a diversion. Buffy will be charging through the back entrance any moment. No need. Tell her to come here.” He put his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Buffy come forth. I know you are there, pet!”  
  
No one came. Angel thought he could see Spike’s eyes glisten. He was obviously disappointed. Nobody spoke. The noises of the city started encroaching on them. Police sirens far away. The music from a kebab stand. Two young women talking as they walked by across the street. Spike threw his glass at the ground. The serving girl jumped and scampered back towards the factory building.  
  
“Go home,” Spike said to Angel and Faith. “This is pointless.”  
  
Faith stepped up to him. “No way. Me and the boss came to kill vampires.”  
  
Spike burst into a giggle. “You’re in way over your head, Missy.”  
  
Angel saw it happen in a flash. Faith swung at Spike, but the vampire easily eluded her fist. Angel ran over to the chest and pulled out a sword. It felt heavy and unbalanced. He looked back at Spike and Faith. Spike was toying with the Slayer. His ugly grin gleamed in the light from the street lamp. Faith kicked and punched but hit only air. Angel charged, holding his sword high. Spike grabbed the blade with his hand and pulled the sword from Angel’s grasp.  
  
“You were gonna fight Drusilla,” Spike laughed. “You have no idea what she has become, what she can do.”  
  
Faith must have seen an opening when Spike was distracted, because she managed to land a punch right on his nose. It was enough to throw the vampire off his footing, giving Faith the opportunity to strike again. The balance had shifted. Faith did not smile, but neither did Spike anymore.  
  
“You filthy harlot,” Spike yelled. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth.  
  
****  
  
Buffy awoke in pain. Her entire body hurt. Worst of all was her right hand. Her fingers were so numb that she could hardly move them. She sat up. She was in a sleeping bag, laying across the back seats of a bus. Willow sat in the seat in front of her, looking very much like her younger self in her sun hat and denim overalls.  
  
“Where are we?”  
  
Willow looked at her with concern. “Are you going to ask me that every time you wake up? We’re in Andrew’s bus on the way to his ranch.”  
  
“Andrew owns a ranch?”  
  
Willow shrugged. “He claims to. He’s out buying provisions, along with Xander and the boys.”  
  
Buffy wiped the sleep from her eyes. Her lashes were as though glued together. “I need to get home,” she said.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Willow, we are on the run with a busload of kids, some of which are dead. I need to get home, get back to work.” She groaned. “My body is broken, my wallet and my cell phone is on top of a volcano in South America. There are miles and miles of desert around us…”  
  
“Buffy, calm down. Andrew says we will be at his ranch tomorrow morning. You need to rest and get better, and then we can plan what to do about Drusilla.”  
  
“Willow, what if she goes after my children … for revenge?”  
  
“We could … we could ask them to come out and join us.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “They will think their mother is mad if I tell them a vampire woman may be after them.”  
  
“I think our best bet,” Willow said, “is to get in touch with Angel and Faith. Faith is apparently still a Slayer.”  
  
“Great,” Buffy groaned. “I will have to rely on Faith to save my children. Is there no one else? How about … Spike?”  
  
“Buffy … Spike is dead.”  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Really?”  
  
“Well, he should be. He definitely tried hard enough to get himself killed. He tore through Africa and most of Asia with his reincarnated god-smurf, killing some of the oldest and most powerful demons. Then they both vanished.”  
  
“A reincarnated god-smurf?” Buffy burst into laughter, but she felt a tear pressing. “The world was surely weird back then. Weird and wonderful.”  
  
Willow smiled. “We could make it wonderful again,” she said. “Now that the Hellmouths are opening again, we could do  _anything._ ”  
  
****  
  
Angel held his nose. He tasted blood, but it did not taste like it had before. Before it was sweet intoxicating nectar. Now it was salty, iron and disgusting. He blinked. His vision returned. Spike and Faith were pommelling each other like two titans. It was clear that Spike had the upper hand. Angel saw the vampire grab Faith’s arm and twist it. Faith fell onto one knee. Her defences were down. She clutched her arm. Spike could easily finish her off, once he was done gloating.  
  
Angel rolled around, found the shotgun, cocked it, rolled back onto his back and fired a hail right into Spike’s gut. The little pieces of led tore through Spike’s insides and sent him flying backwards.  
  
“You unbelievable bastard,” Spike howled.  
  
Faith was on her feet. She hit Spike across his face, causing him to spit a lump of blood that had boiled up from his thorn intestines. Then she grabbed him by the throat to choke him. Bad idea. Spike grabbed her back and lifted her from her feet.  
  
“Let’s see who runs out of air first, pet,” he whispered through gritted, bloodied teeth.  
  
“Let her go,” Angel coughed. “Unless you want the next load through the head.” He held the shotgun prepped and ready.  
  
Spike dropped Faith, who collapsed at his feet.  
  
“All righty, then,” Spike said. “You’ve passed the first test.” He bowed. “You may now fight the rest of the vampires.”  
  
Angel pulled himself to his feet. He was exhausted after the fight. Being a mortal had its downsides. Spike walked away and passed through the crowd of vampires that had begun encircling them. Angel ran over to Faith and helped her up.  
  
“What do you say?” Angel asked her. “Do we run back to the car or do we fight?”  
  
Faith spat blood. “I am taking that mother****er  _down!_ ”  
  
Angel sighed. “I was afraid you would say something like that.”  
  
Faith charged at the vampires, seemingly in blind rage. The vampires scattered in confusion, allowing Faith to pounce at them one by one. Angel ran after her with a sword and decapitated those vampires she had left bloodied and quivering. The sound of Spike’s gloating laughter echoed around him. Angel clenched his teeth. He had to keep moving. Faith was way ahead of him. Staying close to her seemed prudent. The incapacitated vampires would soon be on their feet again.  
  
Angel entered the factory building and ran to the second floor. Faith was on the other side of the room. Two vampires had grabbed hold of her arms. A third one was beating her. Angel was about to come to her aid, when he saw Spike swoop down from the ceiling. He tore the vampires away from Faith, before disappearing again.  
  
“Be fair, boys,” Angel heard Spike cackle. “Fight her one on one.”  
  
Angel and Faith exchanged looks.  
  
“Perhaps we should…” Angel began.  
  
“… rip his head off and throw it from the roof?”  
  
“… withdraw?”  
  
“Over my dead body,” Faith screamed and vanished amongst the shadows.  
  
“Don’t tempt fate, Faith,” Angel muttered.  
  
****  
  
“Stop the bus!”  
  
Andrew hit the brakes.  
  
“What is going on?” Xander asked.  
  
Deputy Sheriff Pepper had awoken. He was staring at a little shack just off the road. “There he lives,” he muttered. “The scumbag!”  
  
“Who?”  
  
Deputy Sheriff Pepper grabbed Xander’s collar and pulled his face uncomfortably close to his own. “Three days ago we raided a mob den looking for guns,” he explained. “We found nothing and the DA was furious with us.” He looked back at the shack. “Someone tipped them off, giving them time to hide the guns, and now I know where.”  
  
Xander looked at the shack. It seemed abandoned. “You think the mob hid guns there?”  
  
Deputy Sheriff Pepper scratched his neck. Xander tried to pull away.  
  
“We’re gonna fight the undead, right?” Deputy Sheriff Pepper asked. “We have an army – a small one. If we could only get them armed we … we would be like a people’s militia.”  
  
Xander looked back at all the comic con geeks. “That may be a  _slight_  exaggeration.”  
  
Willow came forward. “Xander, what is going on? Why are we stopping?”  
  
Xander was about to answer, but Deputy Sheriff Pepper pushed past him and ran out the bus. He was heading to the shack.  
  
“We better follow him,” Xander said, taking Willows hand and leading her with him. “How potent are your Wicca powers these days?”  
  
“You should never ask a witch how potent her powers are,” Willow reprimanded him. “That is a very personal and complicated question. It is all tied to moon cycles and auras and stuff.”  
  
Xander snorted. “You could just have said,  _not very._ ”  
  
“There is more to being a Wicca than exploding balls of fire. It is a religion, a lifestyle…”  
  
“We are trying to stop an armed maniac from killing a member of the mafia. Let’s discuss religion afterwards.”  
  
They hurried after the sheriff. Pepper was already beating on the door to the shack. Nobody opened, so he shot the lock out and stormed in.  
  
Willow held her ears. “Goddess!”  
  
“Maybe we should get in the bus and drive off?” Xander thought for a moment. “Damn it! He has pulled me out of a ditch too many times. I am going in.”  
  
Deputy Sheriff Pepper had just cuffed the man that had been sleeping inside and was now pointing his revolver at the man’s temple. “Dawkins, you little shit!” Pepper yelled. “Where are the guns?”  
  
“There are no guns here!” the man yelped.  
  
“Willow,” Xander shouted. “Cast a disarming spell.”  
  
Willow waved her arms impotently. “Disarming spell? This is not Harry Potter.”  
  
_Witches and their annoyingly inconsistent powers…_  Xander thought to himself. “Pepper, my man,” he tried. “Perhaps you were mistaken. Perhaps we should get back on the bus. Almost nightfall … wouldn’t wanna be caught unawares.”  
  
Deputy Sheriff Pepper cocked his revolver. “You made us look real foolish. We tore through Montana’s mansion looking for those guns. The damages were … considerable.”  
  
The man glared up at him. “You only did that, because he had stopped paying you off.”  
  
“That’s it.” Deputy Sheriff Pepper pulled the man to his feet. “You’re coming with us on the bus.”  
  
Pepper pulled the struggling man towards the door, but as soon as the light from outside fell upon him, the man vanished into smoke and ash.  
  
Deputy Sheriff Pepper scratched his rash. “This rabbit hole, Harris… It just gets weirder and weirder.”  
  
Buffy and Andrew entered the shack. Xander saw that Buffy was still clutching her right hand.  
  
“What the hell is going on?” Buffy asked them.  
  
“I am not sure,” Willow answered. “Some sort of police work, I think.”  
  
“A damn intriguing mystery,” Deputy Sheriff Pepper sighed. “One for the grandchildren.”  
  
Xander went over to the bed in the corner. His eye had spotted something. He pulled forth a duffel bag. It was filled with rifles and shotguns.  
  
“Wow!” he gasped. “Pepper killed someone who was actually guilty of a crime.”  
  
Deputy Sheriff Pepper clapped his hands. “Great. Now we can arm the geek squad. We will strike fear into the Illuminati vampires of Washington.”  
  
Buffy grabbed Xander’s shoulder. “We are not giving military grade weapons to those kids.”  
  
“They are not kids,” Andrew objected. “They are brave young men who have lost friends in the line of duty.”  
  
Buffy looked at Willow. “Help me out here!”  
  
Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. Not that you did not do good at the trailer park, but we kinda got our asses kicked. We need to be able to defend ourselves against another attack.”  
  
Xander offered Willow a rifle. Willow stepped back from him.  
  
“A Wiccan with a gun!? The others would excommunicate me.”  
  
Xander handed Buffy a pistol. “A small calibre sidearm for our one-handed, Slayer?”  
  
Buffy took the gun. “I miss being a hot young chick with superpowers,” she sighed.  
  
“That’s the spirit.” Willow gave Buffy two thumbs up. “Focus on that feeling and soon you’ll be Wonder Woman again.”  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes and went back into the bus. Xander and Andrew handed out guns to all the “rangers”.  
  
“This is a beautiful moment,” Deputy Sheriff Pepper said. “A beautiful moment, indeed.”  
  
****  
  
Angel was alone on the roof. He was exhausted. He did not know how long the fight had lasted, he did not know how he had survived nor did he know where Faith was.  
  
“Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'  
We are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven,  _that which we are, we are!_ ”  
  
Angel turned around and saw Spike swaggering towards him. The fires from below reflected in the vampire’s eyes. Angel held up his hands, palms out.  
  
“Peace, Spike,” he said.  
  
“Peace?” Spike laughed. “Haven’t you had enough of peace, yet, old man? We were dragonslayers, you and I. Remember that?”  
  
Angel shrugged. “There are no more dragons.”  
  
“No,” Spike conceded, “but there is Drusilla. She sired your girlfriend. Where is your  _rage,_  man?”  
  
“You know about that?”  
  
“Of course, I do.” Spike grinned. “You should have seen her, Angel boy. She was so proud of herself.”  
  
“Why haven’t you stopped her?”  
  
Spike shrugged. “I can’t.”  
  
“Can’t?” Angel snickered. “You can’t, because you still love her.” He charged at Spike, swinging his sword.  
  
Spike leapt out of Angel’s way and gave him a kick in the back. “Maybe I do,” he said. “Unlike you, I am actually still capable of love.” He lit himself a cigarette. “That is not the issue. Dru is strong. We are not.” He pointed at Angel. “Especially you, you Uncle Tom.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Angel asked as he got back on his feet. “Why is Drusilla so strong?”  
  
“Something happened to world,” Spike said, “but now everything is reverting back to how it was. Drusilla understands how and why.” He smirked. “I always told you she wasn’t crazy.”  
  
“I don’t believe you,” Angel said, raising his sword again. “You’ve crawled back to her. That is why you asked about Buffy. You want Buffy to save you, because you are scared of being alone. Listen, William! Buffy ain’t coming for you.”  
  
Spike’s eyes grew dark. He let the cigarette fall from his mouth. “Come on,” he said. “You can’t fool me. You went grovelling to Buffy for help, but she did not come for you either. Faith is cute enough, but let’s be serious: She wasn’t your first choice.”  
  
Angel caught his breath. “You need help,” he said. “There was only ever three people in your world, wasn’t it? You, Dru and Buffy.”  
  
“And how much better would it be,” Spike sneered, “if you and all the rest could just  _go away?_ ”  
  
Angel held out his arms. “Well, now is your chance. Take me out of this world if you truly want.”  
  
Spike leapt forward, wrenched the sword from Angel’s arm, grabbed him by the collar and dangled him over the edge of the roof. “It is not  _you_  I want to kill,” he said. “You may look like Angel, but you are an imposter.”  
  
“Am I?” Angel looked Spike straight in the eyes. “I am still the same man, Spike. Fangs or no fangs, I was the first man to touch both Drusilla and Buffy.”  
  
Through the corner of his eye, Angel could see Faith running towards them. Her arms flung themselves around Spike’s neck, pulling him and Angel both away from the edge. All three tumbled around, but Spike and Faith were quickly back on their feet. Angel watched them fight. It was like a blur. They fought like rabid dogs, only with the speed of hummingbirds. Every punch that connected only made the receiver fight back harder. Neither were weakened by pain. Rage is a powerful anaesthetic and an unequalled stimulant. The air between them was like a hurricane in which nothing could survive.  
  
Eventually, Spike dropped to his knees. Faith pounced upon him. Straddling his chest, she pommelled his face with her bleeding knuckles. Spike’s ever-young face became bruised, battered and swollen. Angel forced himself back on his feet. He looked for his sword, but could not find it. It must have fallen off the edge. When he looked back at Spike and Faith, he saw to his horror that they had switched places. Spike was now on top, and his hands gripped Faith’s throat, chocking the life from her. His bared fangs moved ever closer to her neck. Both were covered in each other’s blood.  
  
Angel ran towards them. He may not be as strong as Spike, but he was taller and heavier. He threw himself at him and, with the help of Faith, pushed Spike off the roof. The vampire fell screaming down three stories.  
  
Angel rolled onto his back. “You were amazing,” he gasped.  
  
“You were shit,” Faith responded.  
  
“The building is on fire.”  
  
“My knuckles were starting to hurt. Needed to speed things up.”  
  
****  
  
Spike sat alone in the innermost corner of the pub. He was on his third, fourth or fifth double whiskey. It dulled the pain. There was a lot of pain in him that needed dulling. He was at the bottom now. At least that was comforting. It was time to dust himself off and get back into the saddle. … but what saddle? Which horse? He decided to leave his drink alone. The pain was good. He would need the pain.  
  
He heard the door at the other end of the pub open. A cold draft blew into his beaten bones. He heard the sound of sharp heels upon a floor otherwise only trodden by thick boots. It was her, coming to gloat gain.  
  
“Hello, Dru,” he groaned without looking at her.  
  
“Poor Spikey. Nobody sits with the man with the shotgun wound.”  
  
She leant down and tried to kiss him, but Spike drew away from her.  
  
“Did your friends come?” she asked. “Did you get to play?”  
  
“They came. We played.” Spike laughed. “We burned down your factory.”  
  
“Was your little girlfriend there?”  
  
Spike scowled at her. “You know she wasn’t,” he said accusingly. “You  _knew_  she would not come, didn’t you?”  
  
“Then would you not rather be on mommy’s team?” Drusilla rubbed her belly provocatively.  
  
“Not with this…” Spike punched his chest. “This  _tumour_  inside.”  
  
“Aaaaw!” Drusilla sat herself across Spike’s lap and swung a slender arm around his neck. “Spike’s not feeling good. He’s got an angry man and a scared little boy inside his head.”  
  
“Something like that,” Spike mumbled. “You have no idea, Dru, how good it felt at one point to have it in me. Now … now it feel like something alien … a sickness.”  
  
Drusilla looked into his eyes. “You must make the man and the little boy work together. Then you will feel whole again.”  
  
Spike looked at her strangely. “Why are you helping me?”  
  
She shushed at him. “That would be telling.” She took his glass and sipped it. “I have sent some friends to see the Slayer’s children. Once they are sucked dry, the Slayer will come for me … in full strength … and we will play … and the stars will watch in envy.”  
  
Spike pushed Drusilla off his lap and onto the floor. The other patrons turned and stared at them.  
  
“You filthy, monster,” Spike spat. “How did I ever love  _you?_  You’re rotten. Every part of you. To the core.”  
  
Drusilla licked her lips. She was sitting on the floor like a panther, ready to pounce. “Rotten? Noooooo! So full of strength. Spike is weak … confused.”  
  
Spike looked at her in horror. Then he laughed. “You’re jealous,” he said. “I have opened myself to experiences you are closed to. You are still hollow. If you let the light in, it would burn the last remains of your mind away. Do you think the little East End girl could forgive or even understand the things that you have done?”  
  
Drusilla began to laugh. At first Spike laughed along with her, but Drusilla did not stop. Her cackling just kept going. The other patrons looked at her and Spike in horror. Spike felt the blood in his veins freeze. Drusilla stood up, grabbed his wrists, pulled his arms to her sides and kissed him on the forehead.  
  
“Get on your bike, Spike,” she whispered in his ear. “Or you will have to deliver Buffy the dried out bones of her boys.”  
  
Spike pushed her away. Drusilla fell to the floor laughing. Even after he was out on the street, Spike could still hear her. The ringing sound of her cackling did not stop as he straddled his motorcycle.  
  
_I’ll show her,_  he thought to himself.  _I’ll show them all!_  
  
Then he remembered something Drusilla had said to him when he had been too drunk to listen. “She’s Achilles,” Dru had said, “but where is her Patroclus?” It started to dawn on him what Drusilla was doing. He hoped for her sake that she would not succeed, because Buffy would undoubtedly tear her to shreds.


	8. The Coalition

### Chapter 7 - The Coalition 

At the International Slayer Headquarters 22 years ago…  
  
“Xander, wake up!”  
  
Xander sat up. His back was sore. The matrass he had lain on was thin.  
  
“How long?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“How long,” Giles repeated. “Have you been living here?”  
  
“Just a few days.”  
  
“Were you kicked out?”  
  
Xander pulled on his shirt. “I ran out of money.”  
  
“... or were you kicked out, because your neighbours got tired by the noise and the smell coming from your apartment?” Giles took off his glasses and cleaned them furiously, perhaps finding it hard to look Xander in the eye. “If you ran out of money, perhaps you should have gotten a job.”  
  
“I  _have_  a job.”  
  
“Then get up and get to work.”  
  
“Says he who stops working each time Andrew puts the kettle on,” Xander muttered.  
  
Giles left. Xander got up and got dressed. Living inside his tiny office was difficult. At least now, he did not have to try to hide it anymore. He pushed his matrass underneath his desk. There was a knock on the still open door. Andrew stood tripping on the threshold.  
  
“Guess what?” he said, full of excitement.  
  
“Go to the bathroom and get me some aspirin,” Xander grumbled.  
  
“Willow is coming back!” Andrew was positively beaming.  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Last night, I was burning some candles for my bath,” Andrew said. “And the candles started speaking to me.” He sipped his juice box. “It was super cool, but kinda scary.”  
  
Xander frowned. “The candles told you Willow would be coming?”  
  
Andrew rolled his eyes, signalling that he thought Xander was being very stupid. “When you’re working with witches, you have to expect the unexpected.”  
  
“Do we have something she will eat?” Xander asked. “Something that is healthy, organic and fair trade and all that?”  
  
Andrew gave him two thumbs up. “Fridge is full.” He took a breath and his smile faltered a little. Xander realised he had something on his mind. “I had to borrow money from Tucker,” he said. “We have just enough money to make rent. Someone needs to get a job or we need to start stealing again. No one is getting any pocket money this month.”  
  
“I am not getting a job,” Xander scoffed. “I am too central to this operation. Giles should put in some work. He has been gone for two weeks. What the hell has he been up to?”  
  
“I will insist on a full debriefing at today’s meeting,” Andrew assured him. “I have asked Buffy to attend.”  
  
Andrew left. Xander did his best to make himself presentable. It would be great to see Willow again. How long had it been since her last visit? One month? Two? He could not remember. Having Giles back was more of a drag. He did little these days except complain. Seeing Buffy again could go either way. Xander hoped she would appreciate the work they were doing for the cause. What Buffy was up was a little unclear. She had been wounded some weeks ago. Had she spent all this time recuperating? That seemed unlikely.  
  
Xander stepped into the main office. Andrew and Giles were busy sorting through files. Xander noticed Andrew silently scowling at Giles behind his back. There were tea stains on some of Andrew’s printed reports.  
  
“How many have reported in this week?” Giles turned and asked.  
  
Xander rubbed his chin. He was too tired to be put on the spot like this.  
  
“Seven cells,” Andrew answered in his stead.  
  
Giles rubbed his temples. “What on earth is going on?” he asked rhetorically. “How many have you tried to contact?”  
  
“We sent emails to all of them,” Andrew continued. “That is, all that we know of. Then we tried calling Hong Kong, London, Frisco, Texas, Rio, Mehico, Lima, Transylvania, Lapland…”  
  
Giles held up a hand. “ _Andrew,_  did  _anyone_  answer?”  
  
“I got a report from a girl in Kingston and on in St. Petersburg.”  
  
“What did they say?”  
  
“That everything was fine,” Andrew said, before adding, “They may have mentioned that some of their slayers had returned to civilian life. Didn’t know quite how many.”  
  
Giles sighed. “We’ve lost control,” he said. “How many slayers do we have registered?”  
  
Andrew turned to his computer screen. “5873 with full name,” he said. “10 231 based on the reports from each cell.”  
  
“And do we know how many of those are still active?” Giles asked. “Do we know how many are dead and how many have quit?”  
  
Xander coughed. “No,” he said, finally able to contribute. “We have no idea how many we are. All we know is that we used to be many more than 10 000. Now we are probably far less.”  
  
“This is a disaster,” Giles grumbled.  
  
“Hey,” Xander yelled. “Andrew and I are trying to manage a multinational vigilante task force all by ourselves. The local offices aren’t giving us any help. There are no local offices. Just phone numbers.”  
  
Giles frowned at him. “It seems like Andrew has been doing most of the work.”  
  
“Xander helps,” Andrew insisted.  
  
Xander threw up his hands. “I have to do field work, too.”  
  
“Come on! When did you last do any fieldwork?” Giles grumbled.  
  
Xander turned away and punched the wall with his fist. He had to bite his lip to hide the pain. “I could walk,” he said. “This job is giving me nothing. The superheroes are all out living it large, while we are stuck running an office with no money and no employees.”  
  
Giles scowled at him. “Things were still being done, before I left.”  
  
Xander felt himself giving in to all his frustrations. “Then maybe you should have …”  
  
They all stopped talking. A suitcase floated into the room. They turned to look and saw Willow standing in the doorway. Her arms were outstretched, waiting for hugs. Only Andrew leapt up to receive her embrace. Willow looked somewhat disappointed.  
  
“Why all the sour faces?” she asked.  
  
“We are falling apart, Will,” Xander said. “The slayers are all leaving us.”  
  
“Oh…” Willows smile faltered for a moment, but quickly returned. “Maybe that is a good thing. Maybe we have stretched ourselves a little thin.” She looked around. “Is Buffy here?”  
  
“I called her,” Andrew said. “She is coming in for a meeting.”  
  
Willow beamed. “A Scooby meeting? And the core four will be gathered? That’s great.”  
  
“Core five,” Andrew corrected her. “I was on the Hellmouth, remember?”  
  
These meetings were often so strangely awkward. They all spent so much time missing each other and dreaming of the old days, but the little time they spent together was never quite so pleasant as they expected. Andrew started tidying up the office. Giles went on the computer and read Andrew’s notes. Willow told Xander about her recent adventures. The tension dropped somewhat. Everybody were looking forward to seeing Buffy again. Willow talked about how she missed the old days. Xander could not help but agree.  
  
The morning passed and it became time for the Scooby meeting. Andrew cleared the table and prepared everybody’s snacks – a stack of sandwiches for the ever-fattening Xander, English blueberry scones for Giles, parsnip chips for Willow and cheese and crackers for the Slayer. Everybody gathered around. Willow had long ago decided that she was too cool for chairs, so she brought out a yoga matt from her suitcase, which she made to levitate. Everything was ready. Only Buffy was missing. Giles was glaring disapprovingly at Xander. Xander focused his attention on his watch. Willow was meditating upon her floating yoga matt. Andrew got up and started watering the plants. Time passed slowly.  
  
“Sorry I am late.”  
  
Everyone turned. Their smiles faded when they saw who it was. It was … Kennedy, and she was carrying Buffy’s scythe. Willow lost her concertation and tumbled off her yoga matt.  
  
“Wow!” Kennedy raised an eyebrow. “Surprised to see me, lover? I thought perhaps you would stop by my place first.”  
  
“You know me.” Willow pulled herself up to the edge of the table. “Business first.” She made a nervous laugh.  
  
Kennedy sighed. Her hand shook a little when she placed the scythe on the table. “Now that the Head Slayer is here, I guess we should get started. Ooooh! Cheese and crackers.”  
  
Andrew reached forward and tried to slap Kennedy’s wrist. “Those are for Buffy.”  
  
“Here!” Willow passed her bowl to Kennedy. “Have some parsnip chips.”  
  
Kennedy wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.”  
  
Giles cleaned his glassed. Andrew fidgeted with his fingers. Xander stroked his stubble. Willow just stared at the scythe. Nobody wanted to ask the question.  
  
“Buffy is not coming,” Kennedy was forced to say.  
  
Willow looked up at her. “So, you’re the Head Slayer now. Huh! Neat!” She tried giving a supportive smile.  
  
“The Witch Queen and the Slayer. Ultimate power couple!”  
  
“Did she … did she say why?”  
  
Kennedy sighed. She looked down, then away, and then back at Willow. “Willow, can I talk to you in private?”  
  
Xander got up. “I’ll go feed the fish.” Giles followed him. “I need to unpack my books.” Andrew sauntered after. “Maybe there is some mail in the … post box.”  
  
Kennedy glared after them, before turning back to her girlfriend. “Willow, can I get a hug, at least?”  
  
Willow got up off the floor, went over to Kennedy and let herself fall into her arms.  
  
“I knew you’d be unhappy,” Kennedy said, stroking the back of Willow’s head.  
  
Willow sniffed. “I’ll get over it. I  _am_  happy to see you again.”  
  
“I hope so,” Kennedy said. “I let you spend an awful lot of time with your witchy friends. Don’t think I don’t know what happens during those séances … the sex rites and all that stuff.”  
  
“There are no sex rituals,” Willow said. “At least, not for me.” She made a wry smile. “Sex is not a ritual. It is expression.”  
  
They kissed.  
  
“Did you notice my new ring?” Kennedy asked, and held up her hand.  
  
“It’s beautiful … but…”  
  
“I have one that matches.”  
  
Kennedy held out her other hand. Another ring lay in her palm. Willow was about to reach for it, but stepped back once Kennedy dropped down on one knee.  
  
“Ken!?”  
  
“This is it, Will.” Kennedy’s eyes were welling up. “You get to decide the rest of my life. Do I get my princess?”  
  
Willow looked terrified. It felt like she was seeing Kennedy naked for the first time. No bluster. No jokes. Just raw vulnerability. It brought forth emotions she had not felt since … since Tara died.  
  
“Kennedy..?”  
  
Tears streamed uncontrollably down Willow’s cheek. She could see Kennedy’s eyes start to glisten, too.  
  
“What do you say, Will? Will you be my Scarlett? Do I get to sweep you off your feet and carry you across the threshold?”  
  
“We’re women, Ken. We cannot marry.”  
  
Kennedy laughed. “Don’t give me that crap, Will!” Tears were starting to emerge. “You are a pagan. Summon the Devil! Hold a Sabbath! Do whatever you want, just promise you’ll stay with me.” Willow saw her biting her lip hard. “My parents say they will buy us a little house in the country. We could grow our own food, keep animals…”  
  
“Animals…”  
  
“And … I was thinking … a child…”  
  
“Child?”  
  
Willow backed away and hit the wall. Kennedy looked at her. Willow had to struggle to look back.  
  
“Is that such a crazy idea to you?” Kennedy asked.  
  
“Yes! Once again, we are both  _women,_  Ken.”  
  
Kennedy shrugged in an unconvincing attempt to appear calm. “So what? We just need a cup and a syringe.”  
  
“Syringe!?” Willow felt all the blood drain from her face.  
  
“Am I springing all of this on you a little too quickly?”  
  
“You … you’ve been planning this a long time?”  
  
Kennedy reached forward and took Willow’s hand in her own. “I guess I have,” she said. “I want somewhere to come home to. I go out and fight like an animal. I need a place in my life that is safe.”  
  
Willow shook herself lose. “And you want me to provide that for you?” she snorted. “Be the pillow for you to rest your head on. You want me to sit at home and nurse your child while you go out fighting demons?”  
  
“Willow..?”  
  
“Do you want to take me away from the Wiccans? Hide me away in a house in the country … that  _your parents paid for!?_ ”  
  
“Willow, you misunderstand.” Kennedy got up on her feet. She tried to move closer to Willow, but Willow backed away from her. “The demons will soon all be gone. We need to start planning for the future … for a normal life … together.”  
  
Willow clenched her fist. She clenched them so hard that her nails dug into her palms. Then every window in the office shattered. The draft blew through her hair. “I don’t want  _normal_ ,” she said.  
  
“Willow, you are acting crazy. Calm down.”  
  
“Crazy? Am I? This is all wrong. None of this was supposed to happen. Buffy is gone and you want to stick a syringe up my vagina. Xander and Giles are paper pushers … but spend more time drinking than working. Goddess, what is going on?”  
  
Giles came in. “Willow, did you explode the windows with your magic?”  
  
Willow pointed a finger at him. “Rupert, if you do not return to your desk this instant, I will  _throw_  you out the window with my magic.”  
  
Andrew came running. “This is a disaster. We cannot pay for new windows.”  
  
Willow threw her hands up. “I am out of here.”  
  
“Willow!” Kennedy called after her. “Where are you going?”  
  
“To see Buffy.”  
  
“She may not want to see you,” Giles warned. “Not in this state.”  
  
“Then I will huff and puff!”  
  
****  
  
“They are here,” Willow said.  
  
Buffy rubbed her eyes. We are back in 2027. Buffy had been dreaming of the day when Willow had come banging on her door, asking her to explain why she was leaving the slayers. She often had that dream at moments of change in her life.  
  
“Who is here?” Buffy asked.  
  
Willow gave her a wry smile. “Are you always this disoriented? Angel and Faith are here.”  
  
They were at Andrew’s ranch. How Andrew had been able to buy his own ranch was a mystery. It was not the nicest place, though Andrew did his hardest to keep it cosy. There were enough room to house all of the “rangers”, the three ex-Scoobies and the mystery policeman.  
  
“I don’t want to meet them,” Buffy groaned.  
  
“There was a time when you would sneak out of your room and meet Angel in secret,” Willow reminded her.  
  
“That is  _exactly_  why I don’t want to see him now,” Buffy groaned.  
  
Willow sighed. “Have you not been listening? Angel represents your past. Past is good. Your past is the key to your slayer powers.”  
  
Buffy pulled the blanket over her face. “Then call Scott Hope … or even Parker.”  
  
Willow pulled the blanket away. “Scott Hope is not linked to your slayer identity. Now get your ass out of that rocking chair. You look like an old granny.”  
  
Buffy stood up slowly. Her body felt stiff all over.  
  
Willow raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, sister, do you even stretch?” she asked. “We need to get you into shape.”  
  
Buffy followed Willow into the living room. She exchanged some awkward glances and nods with Angel and Faith. All the chairs and seats were occupied, but Andrew got some of his “rangers” to move out of the way so Buffy and Willow could sit. Xander was talking to his maniac police friend.  
  
“I would like to welcome you all,” Andrew said, moving towards a giant whiteboard at the front of the room, “to the first Scooby Gang meeting in over 20 years.”  
  
Faith raised her hand. “Why are we called the Scooby gang?” she asked.  
  
Andrew looked at her. “Because that’s what we were called before.”  
  
“No, we weren’t,” Angel said. “ _We_  were Angel Investigations.”  
  
“All right,” Andrew said. “We can call ourselves the Scooby Gang  _and_  Angel Investigations.” He washed the whiteboard and wrote the new name down. “So, Angel and Faith are part of the Angel Investigations branch, while…”  
  
“Hold up!” Faith had her hand up again.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I am not part of Angel Investigations. I am Team Faith.”  
  
Angel looked at her. “Am I not paying you to be here?”  
  
Faith shrugged. “Not a lot. You’re not a rich man, and this looks like it could be long term. The only slayer present deserves her own team, doesn’t she?”  
  
Andrew buried his face in his hands. “All right,” he said eventually. “So we are Team Fa…”  
  
“Can I be on Faith’s team?” One of the “rangers” held up his hand.  
  
“Look at this.” Faith grinned. “I have a lackey.”  
  
Andrew cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we are now Team Faith, Angel Investigations and the Scooby Gang. Team Faith consists of Faith and … Kenneth. Angel Investigations is … Angel. Then there are the Scoobies: Buffy is Head Slayer. Willow is Mother Superior of the Wiccans, of which there are currently none. Xander is … something. And I am Head General.”  
  
“Head General?” Buffy said. “Andrew, when did you even become a Scooby?”  
  
“I was at the Hellmouth, remember?” Andrew looked distraught. “If I am not in the Scooby Gang, which team am I on?”  
  
“Buffy was just joking, Andrew,” Willow assured him. “You’re a Scooby.”  
  
“Andrew is not a Scooby,” Xander said. “He, I and Sheriff Pepper lead the Rangers.”  
  
Andrew beamed at Xander. “That is right,” he stammered. “We are the Ranger Team.”  
  
Buffy hid her face in her hands. “How long is this going to take?” she asked Willow rhetorically.  
  
Willow did not seem to hear her. She looked at Xander. “Xander,” she said. “Are you not gonna be on the Scooby Team?”  
  
“We could use a team of non-superhero foot soldiers,” Xander responded. “Who better to lead them?”  
  
The sound of a car coming up the driveway caught everyone’s attention. The engine was being revved. They looked out the window and saw a pink vintage beetle spin on the gravel as it made the final turn. The windows were mirror tinted. A woman stumbled out, holding a large umbrella in front of her, even though no rain fell from the heavy clouds. Her stilettoes sank into the ground as she walked. Large insectlike sunglasses with pink rims obscured her face. The wind blew her blonde crystallised locks around in a comical fashion.  
  
Angel gaped. “No … way.”  
  
Buffy squinted. “Who is it?”  
  
Willow looked amused. “I don’t believe it.”  
  
Xander buried his face in his hands. “I am starting to see that we celebrated our final victory somewhat prematurely.”  
  
The woman came inside and slammed the door behind her. Willow went to every window and closed the curtains. The woman removed her sunglasses. Buffy’s eyes widened as she finally recognised who it was.  
  
“Harmony?”  
  
Harmony blinked. “Buffy?” She tilted her head. “Wow! Joyce really was your mother.”  
  
Buffy frowned. “Andrew, is there a stake in your house?”  
  
Angel crossed his arms. “Harmony, did I not tell you to leave and never come back?”  
  
Harmony scowled at him. “Maybe, but I am here as a representative of your old bosses, dumbass!”  
  
Angel pointed a finger at her. “You can tell Wolfram and Hart that…”  
  
“Duh! Not those low-lives.” Harmony batted her eyelashes in disgust. “I am speaking, of course, about the Powers … you know … they that  _be._  Be as in a continuing state.” She looked around the room for recognition, but found none. “I am  _Vision Girl!_ ”  
  
Angel fell backwards into a rocking chair, kindly provided by Andrew.  
  
“You don’t look too good, Angel,” Harmony said. “Perhaps someone should bring him some fresh blood. I am a little hungry myself, actually.” She looked around the room. “You all look rather tired, don’t you? Willow, did nobody warn you not to crease your forehead so much? Xander..? Xander … oh my God! … is that  _you?_ ”  
  
“Some of us spent the last three decades aging,” Buffy snorted. “Instead of drinking the blood of the living.”  
  
Harmony put her hands on her waist. “I gave up my life and my humanity saving the world from a snake monster,” she scoffed. “What have  _you_  ever sacrificed?”  
  
Buffy walked away, trying her best to contain her sardonic laughter.  
  
“Hello, Harmony,” Willow tried. “You look well.”  
  
“More than well,” Andrew exclaimed. “She is …  _radiant!_ ”  
  
Harmony smiled at him. “Well, thank you.” She held out her hand for him to kiss.  
  
“Too bad her tacky perfume ruins the overall impression,” Xander snorted.  
  
“Chanel!” Harmony kicked Xander in the back of his ankle, throwing him onto the floor. “Is  _not_  tacky!” Her fangs pushed themselves out at the sides of her mouth.  
  
“Harmony!” Angel ran up to them. “We need to remember that Harmony is an unsouled, chipless vampire with no impulse control.” He extended his hand to Xander and helped him up.  
  
Willow put her hand on her hip. “Oh, poor Angel. Have you developed a Riley-complex now that your super strength it gone?”  
  
“A Riley-complex?”  
  
“I told you that you would regret your decision,” Willow said. “Drusilla is back and you are just about as useful as Andrew.” She looked apologetically over at Andrew. “At least Andrew is a great host.”  
  
Several minutes of arguing followed. Old grudges were vented. Buffy found herself missing her job. At least there, the noise was bearable. It was Harmony who eventually broke through the chaos.  
  
“Hello!?” she yelled. “Does nobody want to know what the Powers That Be wants?”  
  
Angel scoffed. “Hamony, there is no way the Powers are speaking to  _you!_  Lindsey was more convincing.”  
  
Harmony ignored him. “The Powers told me they have been cut off from humanity for a long time. Now they can speak to us again, because someone is bringing magic and demons back to the world.”  
  
“Who?” Angel asked, sounding unconvinced. “Drusilla?”  
  
“I think I know who,” Xander said. “It is obvious, isn’t it? It was  _Willow._ ”  
  
Willow frowned at him. “Xander!”  
  
Buffy looked at Willow. “You admitted it. You told me you had been working to open the Hellmouths. You brought the vampires back.”  
  
Willow crossed her arms. “I am not liking the vibes in the room right now.”  
  
“Then perhaps you better come clean,” Buffy said.  
  
Willow sighed. “The Hellmouths need to stay open. They are our link to …  _everything._  Without the Hellmouths, souls cannot pass onto the afterlife. Life will start to wither. You can all feel it in yourselves, can’t you? None of you are the same as you were before.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “We’re just older, Willow. It happens.”  
  
“It is more than that,” Willow insisted. “We were all pretty special. Now Xander is a drunk, you’ve lost your powers … Kennedy is straight.”  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Willow, Kennedy left you two decades ago … and the closing of the Hellmouths did not make her straight.”  
  
Willow looked at her with sad eyes. “You may laugh it off, but you know am I right. Everything that made life special has been slowly seeping away. People have become boring. Who knows what would have happened if the Hellmouths had closed completely.”  
  
“At least we would not be eaten by vampires,” Xander said. “Could it be, Willow, that you have been working on opening the Hellmouths, because you are afraid of losing your powers? You’re afraid to become normal, like the rest of us.”  
  
Buffy put a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “Willow, if Drusilla turns out to be more than we can handle, we may have to consider closing the Hellmouths again.”  
  
“Let’s make one thing clear,” Willow said. “I did not open the Hellmouths by myself. There are others who does not want to see the world end. Much of the work was done by Satanists and Warlocks funded by Nestlé.” She made a wry smile. “Desperation leads to strange bedfellows.”  
  
“The Powers That Be agree with Willow,” Harmony shot in. “They want the Hellmouths kept open.”  
  
“Well, that is a relief,” Angel snorted.  
  
Just then, the room fell dark. The power had been cut. Buffy heard the rangers grabbing their guns. Willow mumbled some words, and an orb of light appeared before her.  
  
“I’ll go check the fusebox,” Andrew said.  
  
“Stay here,” Willow ordered. “We are under attack.”


	9. Babysitter

****

### Chapter 8 - Babysitter 

Dawn drifted slowly into consciousness. The first thing she became aware of was the smell of flesh. Then there was the heavy arm that pressed upon her. She pulled the hand towards herself and kissed it. The feeling was not smothering or restraining. She was happy to be where she was.  
  
So much had happened in the last few months. She had moved away from her sister. It was not as if she had had much of a choice. There was no longer a natural place for her within the fractured Scooby Gang. It was time to strike out on her own. So, she had gone off to university to study psychology. It had been terrifying at first. The campus was enormous. Everyone else seemed so adjusted and self-assured. Dawn had felt completely lost and ignored in a maelstrom of social activity. The courses were brutal, the teachers seemed to speak an alien language and the books were clearly not written to be understood by human beings.  
  
Slowly, however, thing had started to get better. She had joined a study group. They would gather and read in the mornings and go out to clubs in the evenings. Things started to get easier. She felt like an entirely new person. Suddenly, she was confident and charming. In class, she was clever and quick.  
  
Last night she had finally approached her crush. Before she had spoken to him, she had given him the opportunity to watch her work her lower body on the dancefloor. None of the other girls had learnt to dance from masked Broadway demons. They had none of her game. She felt as if she could have had any boy in that club, but her mind was set on Adam. She went and spoke to him, he bought her a drink, they talked, they went to an after party together, he followed her home, but his apartment was closer…  
  
The first try was disappointing. He did not last long. Dawn was understanding, because he was so cute when he apologized. They waited until he was ready to go again. This time Dawn was on top, and she forced him to pace himself. When he drew his final sigh of pleasure, she was ready to finish herself off. They collapsed onto each other. Was it his first time, too? Dawn didn’t know.  
  
So, this was what it was like to be a woman – living on her own, making her own friends, succeeding in her studies, sleeping with men… It was a good feeling. Dawn felt proud. She was so used to being  _the kid_  in a gang of older almost-adults.  
  
The arm stirred. Its owner was waking up. Dawn rolled around to face him, so that he would see her when he opened his eyes. He blinked. He smiled. He looked amused … almost confused.  
  
“Hello,” he said in a strange voice.  
  
“Hello, you,” Dawn said, full of happiness.  
  
“Hello to  _you_ , too.”  
  
Dawn felt her smile falter a little. “I hope it is all right that I stayed,” she said. “I thought you would want me to.”  
  
“Of course,” he assured her. “You are a very pleasant sight to wake up to.”  
  
“What do you want to do today?” Dawn asked him. “I have classes, but I could be convinced to take the day off.”  
  
Adam smiled awkwardly. “Sure,” he said. “There is just one thing … I don’t mean to be rude.” He scratched the back of his head. “I may have had a little too much to drink last night. I don’t remember…”  
  
“My name..?” Dawn felt a pain in her stomach, but she steeled herself. “It is Dawn. I may only have said it once.”  
  
He laughed nervously. “Hello, Dawn,” he said as if meeting her for the first time. “We must have had a good time last night.”  
  
Dawn sat up. Her heart dropped into her stomach. “You don’t remember …  _anything_.” It was not a question. It was a realisation. Adam … she was a stranger to him.  
  
The sheets, their clothes on the floor, the smell of their bodies … The room was littered with evidence of what they had done. How could he not remember?  
  
“I am very sorry,” Adam said. “I had not planned on meeting someone. If I had known, I would not have drunk so much.”  
  
“You did not  _seem_  drunk,” Dawn said.  
  
There was no point being angry. Nothing Dawn said could make Adam remember again. All she could do was leave. She did not want to start a long-term relationship on such an awkward note. She dressed herself in yesterday’s clothes and left. It did not strike her before she was outside. This had been her first time and it had  _almost_  been perfect. The realisation of what could have been hit her like a punch to the gut, where her heart also currently resided.  
  
All the pride she had felt was gone. People could easily see that she was wearing clothes suited for a Saturday evening on a Sunday morning. Everybody had to realise what she had done. Perhaps they could even smell it. She hugged her arms tightly and walked as fast as she could back to her dorm room.  
  
When she came to the building in which she lived, she entered the wrong room. It had to be the wrong room, because the room was empty. There was no bedding on the bed. The shelves were all empty. Why then did her key fit? She stepped outside and looked at the room number. It was the right room. She had lived here for two months. She was here only yesterday. Where was all her stuff?  
  
Dawn fell against the wall and sank down to the floor. Her shaking hand rummaged through her purse and picked out her cell phone. By instinct, she dialled the old phone number to their house in Sunnydale, but then she remember that it was buried in stone and dust. A creeping fear of rootlessness came upon her. If she lost her dorm room, she had no “home” to run home to. Buffy was not in a position to offer her much help. Still, Dawn needed to talk to her. She found her sister’s number in her cell phone’s phonebook.  
  
Buffy answered. “Hello! I can’t really speak right now.”  
  
Dawn merely cried into the receiver.  
  
Buffy sounded like she was among a crowd of people. “Who is this?” she asked.  
  
“It is me,” Dawn manged to say.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Buffy, it is Dawn!”  
  
Dawn heard someone ask Buffy a question to which Buffy responded, “I don’t know. There is no answer.”  
  
“BUFFY!”  
  
Buffy hung up. A single, prolonged tone was all Dawn could hear. She dropped the phone and buried her face in her hands. When she looked up, everything was dark. She searched for the light switch. For twenty years, she searched for the light switch…  
  
****  
  
Spike drove along the highway as fast as his motorbike could take him. He had to find a motel before dawn. The wind blew through his thin shirt. It was cold, even for vampire. Suddenly, he felt something peculiar. It was as if a pair of tiny arms were clutching his waist from behind. He pulled his bike to a screeching halt and looked over his shoulder. There was no one there, but he heard the sound of something rolling along the road. It was a football helmet. It must have been attached to his bike. Spike picked it up. It smelt of Drusilla. She must have strapped it to the back of his seat, before coming to meet him in the pub.  
  
_The old bird has finally lost it,_  Spike thought. Then he was struck by a feeling of déjà vu so powerful that the helmet fell from his hand. A memory was trying to crawl forth from the back of his mind.  _The hag put it there for a reason,_  he realised.  _Clever Dru. Almost more to you than you let on._  He laughed to himself.  
  
A scream drew Spike’s attention. A burly man was pushing a spindly woman against the hood of a car. He held a knife against her throat. Spike stopped and studied the two for a moment. It shamed him that he had ever been capable of such petty cruelty. The man was much larger than the woman was. He had a knife and she did not. There was no challenge to the act. What is violence without glory? Should there not at least be some sport?  
  
“Give the knife to the bird and see how you fare then,” Spike shouted to the man.  
  
The man spun around, shocked at being watched. He pointed his knife at Spike. “Mind your own business,” he said. “Unless you want to be cut, too.”  
  
Spike grinned. He swaggered over to the man. The blade came down. Spike did not even bother moving out of the way. The pain of the cut filled him with bloodlust. He grabbed the man with both his hands and ripped his neck open with his fangs. The scream of the woman filled Spike’s ears. The man only gurgled. Spike drank deeply. It was not chicken. It was pork and beans. Still, it would have to do. He let the dried out carcass drop to his feet.  
  
“Your welcome, luv,” Spike said to the woman as he wiped his mouth.  
  
The woman’s eyes looked like they would fall out of her gaunt sockets. “You just killed him…”  
  
“He had it coming,” Spike said. He pulled the dead man’s spring blade knife from his own chest. It had gotten stuck between his ribs. “Take this, luv,” he said as he handed it to the woman. “Size doesn’t matter. Not when you have a knife, anyway. Remember that the next time one of these fools comes around.”  
  
The woman put the knife into her pocket. Spike saw that she had needle marks on her arm.  
  
“Do you think you could put me up for … the day?” Spike asked. “I need a place to stay.”  
  
“I usually charge for that,” the woman muttered.  
  
“But since I am piss poor, and since I saved your life … or something, and since I will not be needing any of your services.” Spike lit a cigarette. “You will let me stay at your place for free.”  
  
“It is not really a place,” the woman said. “Just a room.”  
  
“Sounds perfect,” Spike enthused. “I am not picky. I just need a place with a roof. Trying to avoid a tan, you see.”  
  
They arrived at the woman’s place. It was a single room in an abandoned old motel. Spike sat down in the corner. He felt beat, despite having recently fed. The stiffness from his long slumber had not worn off yet. The woman sat herself down on the bed. The sheets were dirty. Spike felt slightly repulsed. Everything smelt rotten, especially the walls.  
  
They started talking. It was refreshing to talk to someone other than Drusilla. Drusilla was making Spike go as mad as she was.  _I’ve just eaten an old married couple, Spike. I am so very strong now, Spike. I am going to feed on your girlfriend, Spike._  Spike pressed his hands against his temples, trying to forcibly exorcize Drusilla from his head. It did not work. He tried listening to the woman whose room he was in. There was something calming about her voice, even if it was hoarse and jagged.  
  
“I had a … er … friend, who used to do what you do,” Spike said as the evening drew close. “She bragged endlessly about how much money she could make.”  
  
“I make a little,” the woman said. “But not too much.”  
  
Spike looked at her. “But there is a man, isn’t there, whom you share your money with?”  
  
The woman looked at her lap. “Yes…”  
  
“Why?”  
  
The woman sighed. “That is just how things are done.”  
  
Spike laughed. “I used to run with this little gang,” he said. “Our leader was a right prick. Every day I dreamt about beating him senseless … or dusting him …  _killing_  him, I mean.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette. “Do you know why I never did it?”  
  
“No…”  
  
“Fear,” Spike said. “That was all it was. He even told me, if you want something, you have only to take it. It took me a long time to understand what that meant.”  
  
The woman looked confused.  
  
“You’re in a good position, you are,” Spike told her. “You may not realise it, but having nothing, that puts things in perspective. It forces you to realise the capabilities inherent in yourself.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Spike leant in close to her. “How would your boss man react if you snuck into his bedroom while he slept and pointed a gun at his braincage?”  
  
The woman shrugged. “He would likely laugh,” she said. “He is crazy. Not easily scared…”  
  
Spike leapt to his feet and gestured with his hand. “So he wakes up. He sees you standing there, pointing your gun. He tries to laugh … to seem calm. Then he hears you cock the gun. He sees the rabid expression on your face. Now he knows he may die.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
Spike lifted his hands up in triumph. “Then you take the fuckers money and get the hell out of dodge.”  
  
“I couldn’t do that,” the woman said.  
  
“Saying it makes it true,” Spike mumbled. He pulled back the blinds and saw that the sun was fully down. “Got to run, luv.”  
  
“Can I ask where you are going?”  
  
Spike sighed. “I don’t have a pimp … but I have a mistress, and there is no escaping her. Her talons are embedded so deep in my flesh that I often struggle to distinguish her will from my own.”  
  
“What’s her name?”  
  
Spike lit a cigarette. “I am not sure,” he said. “Some days I think it is one, but it may be the other. My mind is a little confused these days and  _she_  is very clever.”  
  
Spike left the room and walked out into the empty parking lot. He felt a presence hidden among the shadows, though he could not see anything.  
  
“Tell me the story,” the wind seemed to say.  
  
“What story?” Spike sneered back at no one.  
  
“The one about the girl in the coal bin.”  
  
Spike groaned. “I don’t like that story anymore.” He peered into the shadows. “Who are you, anyway?”  
  
“You tell me.”  
  
There was no use standing around talking to ghosts. Actual, real people needed saving. Whatever repressed memory was trying to press its way into his tormented mind had to wait until Buffy’s sons were safe. There was no time for introspection. The moon was up, and Dru’s vampire goons would be on the prowl.  
  
****  
  
Knock, knock.  
  
A bearded man opened the door. He was holding a bottle of beer in his hand.  
  
“Can I come in?” Spike asked. “I need to use your phone.”  
  
“Piss off!” the man said.  
  
Spike grabbed his throat. “Pretty please!”  
  
The man hit Spike over the head with his beer bottle, smashing it to pieces.  
  
Spike frowned. “Ouch! Don’t do that!” He shook the shards from his hair. “Once again: Can I come in, please!”  
  
The man nodded. “Be my guest,” he gasped.  
  
“Thank you!” Spike dropped the man to the floor. “Follow me inside, Matt,” he said. “I am going to save your sons.”  
  
Matt scrambled after him. “What the **** are you talking about?”  
  
Spike’s muddy biker boots trampled into the living room. There were empty beer bottles and a smoking ashtray on the table. The place stank of lonely old man. There were pictures all over the walls and on the shelves. Buffy were in several of them. There was a picture of her in her white dress on her wedding day, looking up at Matt with an expression Spike remembered and dearly missed. There were several pictures of Buffy with her sons or with people who were probably part of Matt’s family.  
  
“This is truly terrifying,” Spike said.  
  
Matt raised an eyebrow. “What is?”  
  
“Your ol’ lady,” Spike said. “I mean, Buffy. Where is she?”  
  
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know her?” His voice was not friendly.  
  
Spike smiled mordantly. “In  _every_  way. Now tell me where she is. It is important.”  
  
“The hell I won’t,” Matt yelled. “You better tell me how you know my wife!”  
  
Afterwards, Spike was uncertain if he had meant to hit Matt in the face or if it just happened. Anyway, Matt ended up on the floor with a broken and bleeding nose. Spike had ascertained that Matt and Buffy’s marriage was probably in a bit of rut. Still, Buffy would likely be unimpressed when she learned he had beaten up her husband. He had to make sure she understood it was absolutely necessary. It was not  _just_  because Matt was so annoying.  
  
Before he left, Spike stole Matt’s cell phone. It took him several minutes to work out how to use the modern smartphone. Sleeping for the better part of 20 years had made him even more of a technological caveman than he already was. Eventually, he managed to call Buffy, but there was no answer. Spike did not know her phone was lost in the South American jungle. Then he called Bobby, Buffy’s eldest son.  
  
“Hey, dad,” Bobby answered.  
  
“Hi there, son,” Spike said in his best American accent. “Where are you? I need to speak to you in private.”  
  
“At the Silver Club. It is not really…”  
  
Spike hung up and straddled his motorcycle. The boy was at a nightclub. Drusilla’s goons would likely come for him there. Spike revved the engine up and his motorcycle span forward.  
  
Outside the nightclub, Spike saw the same young man he had seen in Buffy’s family photos. It had to be Bobby. He had his arm around a woman, possibly a vampire. People were lurking in the darkness around them. They were  _definetly_  vampires. Young and stupid ones.  
  
Spike swaggered over to the woman Bobby was walking with and yanked her by the shoulder. “Sorry, luv. Need to speak to the kid.”  
  
The woman hissed and bared her fangs at him. Spike thrust a piece of wood into her chest, making her explode. Bobby screamed in shock and horror. Spike had no time to explain himself. The other vampires were attacking.  
  
“Drusilla told us about you,” one of the vamps said. “You have strayed, brother. You are no longer worthy of serving the mistress.”  
  
Spike took a hit on the left cheek, and then, like a good Messiah, he took another one on the right. The pain was intoxicating. He grabbed the attacking vampire by the shoulders and gave him an unchristly headbutt – forehead to nose. His would-be opponent tumbled backwards and hit his head on the edge of the sidewalk.  
  
“You have no idea,” Spike screamed hysterically. “You have no idea of the carnage Drusilla and I created. The angels would tug themselves to sleep at night watching our depravity with envy.”  
  
The vampire jumped to his feet. Spike casually grabbed his throat and threw him head first against a lamppost, making it bend like a paper clip.  
  
Spike dusted his hands. “Anyone else who tries to murder my girl’s son, supports Man City or likes the poetry of Robert Frost can expect similar treatment.”  
  
A number of other vampires appeared from the shadows. They held their arms up menacingly and flared their teeth.  
  
“What is this freak show?” Spike asked. He pulled a water pipe from a wall. “Here is what I am going to do, kids. I am not going to stake you. I will hack you all to pieces and leave your undead limbs to wait for sunrise.”  
  
The attacking vampires did not heed Spike’s warning. They fell upon him like piranhas. He shook them off as if they were leg-humping chihuahuas and battered them all bloody with his water pipe.  
  
“What is is?” Spike screamed. “You’re all tired of Whac-A-Mole? I am going for full score tonight. I am gonna win my girl a bloody teddy bear!”  
  
Spike stopped once he realised he had made the last remaining vampire look like something found in the dumpster behind an Italian restaurant. He surveyed the scene. Some vampires were dusted, others merely incapacitated and some had undoubtedly fled.  
  
Spike turned to Bobby, who was shivering against a wall. “Did you like the show, kid?”  
  
Bobby held his hands up in front of his face.  
  
“Oh!” Spike wiped some blood from his face. “I should perhaps explain that I am the good guy.” He extended his hand. “Name’s Spike. Here to rescue yah!”  
  
“You’re crazy!” Bobby stammered.  
  
“Yeah,” Spike conceded. “True. But have you considered this?” He patted Bobby on the shoulder. “We live in a crazy world and somehow we must all learn to roll with the punches.”  
  
Bobby just stared at him. Spike sighed, lit a cigarette in his mouth and handed it to Bobby.  
  
“Listen, our kid, there are some things I need to tell you about your mum.”  
  
Bobby held the cigarette between his shaking fingers and took a deep drag. “Were you … dating once?”  
  
“Dating!?” Spike laughed. “That is such a trivial term. We were star crossed …” He stopped himself, remembering he was meeting Buffy’s kid for the first time. “I mean … we went out a few times … back in the day.”  
  
“Back in the day?” Bobby looked at Spike discerningly. “When was that? You a little young to have…”  
  
“Your mother, even if she was the Slayer, sometimes dated…” Spike spat, remembering Angel. “I mean … she dated me, even though … I’m a vampire. So actually, I am older than she is. Much older.”  
  
The cigarette dropped from Bobby’s lips. “A vampire?”  
  
“All right…” Spike held his hands up. “I can read that reaction one of two ways. Either you are shocked that your mummy dated a vampire, which I must admit, I would be too … or … Buffy never told you about vampires.”  
  
“Can I say yes to both?”  
  
“Yes,” Spike said. “I guess you can. We need to keep this conversation rolling, because we have another kid to save. In short, your mum used to be known as the greatest warrior in the world and now my ex-girlfriend has come to kill you and your brother.”  
  
“I thought you said mum was your ex?”  
  
Spike sighed. “Here’s some free advice, kid. Stick to  _one_  girl. It will make your life a helluva lot easier.” He shrugged. “Until she dumps you, of course, then you’re ****ed…”  
  
Bobby cleared his throat. “This is all a little too much for me to take in all at once, but … is my brother in danger?”  
  
“Most definitely,” Spike said. “But you and I will rescue our kid.”  
  
They rode together on Spike’s motorcycle to William’s dorm room. Spike figured the kid was all right. He calmed down quickly enough. It could be partly because he was piss drunk. Still, Spike was sure he noticed an adventurous spark in Bobby. As they walked the stairs up to William’s room, Spike entertained Bobby with stories of his and Buffy’s adventures together.  
  
“And Buffy was like … I have a troll hammer … take that hell-bitch! KABOOM!” Spike waved his hands for emphasis.  
  
“Stop!” Bobby yelled.  
  
“What?”  
  
“There’s a sock tied to the doorknob.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“My baby brother has finally gotten a girl home with him.”  
  
Spike smacked himself across the forehead. “Boys, these days,” he groaned. “I lost my virginity at 28 to a woman I stayed with for over a century.”  
  
Bobby grinned. “Man, that is weak.”  
  
“Hey!” Spike pointed his finger at Bobby. “You know I could rip the spine from your neck and drink the juice, right?”  
  
“As if you would kill the son of one of the only two chicks you ever boned…”  
  
Spike smacked the back off Bobby’s head. “Don’t speak about your mother like that. And for your information…” He counted on his fingers. “I’m up to  _four_ , actually, which is probably more than…”  
  
“I slept with four chicks before I graduated High School.”  
  
“You sure you’re not Angel’s kid?” Spike grumbled.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nevermind.”  
  
They stood and stared at each other for a moment. Spike had changed his mind about the kid. He was a little brat.  
  
“Ey, Spike!” Bobby said after a while.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Something just occurred to me.”  
  
“Seeing as how the vampire who came for me seduced me first…”  
  
“You don’t think?”  
  
Spike landed a kick on the door that broke the wood into splinters. William and a young woman lay cuddled together on the bed. They both jumped as bits of the door flew towards them. William rolled away and fell off the side of the bed.  
  
“Bobby, what the hell are you doing?” he shouted as he recognised his brother.  
  
“We are here to rescue you,” Bobby yelled back.  
  
Spike stood on the threshold. “We believe that woman is going to kill you,” Spike said. His hands touched the invisible wall before him, as if he were a French mime. “Invite us in and we will kill her for you!”  
  
William threw a book at him. “Bobby, get the fuck out of her and take your friend with you. Are you high?”  
  
The woman grinned at Spike. She grasped William’s long red hair in her hand and pulled his head backwards, before bringing her lips and fangs down to his exposed neck. Blood quickly started pouring onto the floor. William screamed. Spike picked up a splinter from the door and handed it to Bobby.  
  
“Run inside and jam this into her heart,” he instructed. “Make sure you penetrate the ribcage.”  
  
“What?” Bobby backed away. “Why me?”  
  
“Because I cannot go in uninvited.” Spike banged his hand against the invisible wall. “Go! Save your brother!”  
  
Bobby swallowed. He hesitated for a moment, looked at his dying brother, and then he ran inside and staked the vampire.  
  
“The chest, not he breast, you buffoon!” Spike growled at him.  
  
Bobby struck again. The vampire evaporated into ashy dust. William collapsed upon his bed, but he was breathing. Spike gave a thumbs up to Bobby.  
  
“Brilliant,” he said. “Your mum would be proud.”  
  
Bobby went over to William and shook him. William coughed. He was losing a lot of blood. Spike went down the hall and found some medical supplies. Bobby put a compression on William’s wound, which stopped the bleeding.  
  
“What is going on, Bobby?” William whimpered as he came to.  
  
“This man,” Bobby pointed at Spike, “is a vampire. He is saving us from other vampires. Mum is a vampire, too.”  
  
“Your mum’s a vampire  _slayer_ ,” Spike corrected him.  
  
“Is that like a super vampire?” Bobby asked. “A day walker?”  
  
“No,” Spike said. “A vampire slayer kills vampires.”  
  
“… and sometimes dates them,” Bobby added.  
  
“Hey! I am a  _good_  vampire,” Spike growled. “With a soul.”  
  
Bobby sighed. “Apparently this guy’s  _other_  ex wants to kill us.”  
  
“Why?” William asked.  
  
Spike shrugged. “I think she is trying to goad your mum into a massive catfight or something. Bad idea. Your mum is ferocious.”  
  
Bobby and William looked at each other. “He says lots of weird things about mom,” Bobby said.  
  
“Do you know where your mother is?” Spike asked.  
  
“She lives in an apartment not far from here,” Bobby said.  
  
“I went to see her three times,” William said. “She is never home and her mailbox is full.”  
  
Spike felt his heart sink. “That is not good. You two need to go into hiding.”  
  
“I cannot go anywhere tonight,” Bobby said. “I am too drunk.”  
  
“Me too,” William joined in.  
  
Spike sighed. “All right,” he said. “It may be better if you travel during daytime anyway.”  
  
Spike and the boys sat and talked for a while, but eventually they all dosed off. While dreaming, Spike became aware of a person standing above him. He felt the outline of her tall and slender form in his mind. There were feeling of anger emanating from her. “I will set you on fire,” Spike felt her say. “When you sleep.”  
  
Spike jumped to his feet screaming and desperately patted imaginary flames with his hands. Bobby and Willam awoke and looked at him in horror. It took a while before Spike was awake enough to realise that he was not on fire.  
  
“I am going out,” he said and stormed out of the room.  
  
On the street, he found Drusilla. It did not surprise him the least. She always came. It did not matter if he was asleep or awake. Always, she haunted him.  
  
“Why are you here?” he shouted at her.  
  
“I am out jogging,” she answered. “Jogging your memory, Spikey!”  
  
Spike pointed at this temple. “What did you put in my head, woman?”  
  
Drusilla came forward and kissed his forehead. “There is so much in there that you have forgotten.”  
  
Spike pushed her away. “Tell me,” he demanded.  
  
“There is an entity,” Drusilla mused. “It has floated among the stars of limbo for many years. Now it is brought back … brought back by certain anchors.”  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Anchors?”  
  
“You, Spike, are an anchor,” Drusilla told him. “A line extends from you to it, and I can use that line to pull the little fishy in.”  
  
“This entity you speak of,” Spike said, “is a girl.”  
  
“She is so much more,” Drusilla said. “She is the key to great power.”  
  
“The key…” Spike tasted the words. “That means something.”  
  
“I can help you find her,” Drusilla offered. “Bring her from the sky or from below. Wherever she is.”  
  
Spike laughed. “Why would I accept your help?”  
  
“Because the fishy will be bait for your girlfriend,” Drusilla said. “When she realises who she almost lost, she will move Heaven and Earth to get her back.”  
  
Spike laughed. “You have no idea,” he said. “Don’t goad Buffy into a fight. She will rip you apart, Dru.”  
  
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Drusilla said challengingly. “You would enjoy seeing old Dru dead.”  
  
Spike spat. “Nothing would please me more, you crazy old hag!”  
  
Drusilla’s smile vanished. She grabbed Spike by the wrist. With shocking strength, she twisted his arm and forced him to his knees. “I saw you first,” she hissed. “I picked you up from the gutter when even your mother hated you, because I saw a spark inside your pathetic shell.” Her eyes narrowed. “You never paid me back for that, Spikey! Could  _never_  pay me back!”


	10. Harm's Way

**Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:**  
  
"Everybody hates me."  
  
"I don't hate you. I-I mean, it's just I-I don't know you that well and..."  
  
"I tried being out on my own, all independent and evil. I'm just no good at it."  
  
"We always said we were going to do something cool with our lives. Now look at us: You're an office manager and I'm dead."  
  
"I just... I don't get it. I used to be way popular in high school. Just since I got vamped at my graduation, I've had trouble connecting with people."  
  
"I never took  _her_ for granted ... oh!"  
  
"That is not your friend. That thing may have your friend's memories, her appearances... , but it's just a filthy demon, an unholy monster."  
  
"Happy, what's that? The last time I remember being truly happy was back in school  _with you_."  
  


### Chapter 9 - Harm's Way Revisited

More than two months earlier…  
  
“Molly, get up. You’ll catch a cold.”  
  
“I want to make a snow angel,” the daughter responded.  
  
The mother looked over the snow-covered park. “Did you make all of these?” she asked her daughter.” There were hundreds of angelic shapes pressed into the thick snow.  
  
“No,” the daughter responded. “They were here when I got here.”  
  
The mother took her daughter’s hand and led her home. They did not notice the footprints that were appearing in the snow. Like a smile without a cat, the prints appeared without feet. Something stepped its way out of the park, making a path of prints over to old April Finkle’s clothing store. A vintage cheerleading outfit from a school that no longer existed was on display in the window. The outfit vanished, and a long white dress fell over the now naked mannequin.  
  
****  
  
They collided. She dropped her papers on the floor. He spilled the coffee onto his chest. It was not hot, so he did not scream. They both squatted down to save her papers from the coffee that flowed across the floor.  
  
“I am so sorry,” she said.  
  
He froze. She looked up and saw who it was. It was  _Richard_. He still had a band-aid on his neck.  
  
“It is  _you_ ,” Richard said in an icy tone.  
  
“Richard.” He was about to get up, but she stopped him. “I am sorry I was a little rough with you,” she said. “Do we have to be so awkward about this?”  
  
Richard was not the first married doctor to sleep with one of his co-workers after the annual Christmas party, but the hickey he had received had apparently been difficult to explain to his wife.  
  
“Leave me alone,” he groaned and hurried towards the washroom for a new shirt.  
  
She gathered up her papers from the floor and threw those that were completely ruined in the bin. Working here meant a series of humiliations and a constant sense of inadequacy, no matter how hard she tried. She dragged her feet back to the reception desk and sat down in her chair. The picture of her and Spike lay face down. She could not bear to look at it when she was depressed, which was almost always, especially now, just after Christmas. She kissed her fingers and pressed them against the lips of her “little” unicorn figurine.  
  
Someone slammed their hands upon her desk. “Hullo, Harm.”  
  
Harmony jumped in her seat. “Phil!? Jesus Christ!”  
  
Phil snickered. “Sorry,” he said. He leant over her desk and looked into her eyes. “I have something to ask you,” he said.  
  
She scowled at him. “What?” She hated Phil, but part of her was happy  _someone_  was talking to her.  
  
“Could you take my shift on Monday?”  
  
“Sure,” Harmony said with a smile. Then she stopped herself. “What time do you start?”  
  
“8 a.m.”  
  
“I can’t,” Harmony stammered. “I only work the night shift.”  
  
Phil drummed his fingers on the desk. “Of course,” he said. “… your skin condition.”  
  
“It’s not funny,” Harmony said with a pout.  
  
“Oh, come on,” Phil said with a sneer. “You have such pretty skin.”  
  
He pinched her cheek. That was a bad idea. Harmony bit him. Phil looked in horror as blood gushed forth from the stump of his index finger. Harmony spat and the tip fell upon her desk.  
  
“I am  _so_  sorry,” she said.  
  
Phil ran screaming down the corridor, until he slipped and fell on the pool of coffee left by Richard. Harmony got up from her desk. A group of nurses came to Phil’s aid. Harmony picked up the tip of his finger and ran after them.  
  
“You crazy, bitch!” Phil screamed at her.  
  
The nurses looked back at Harmony in horror. Harmony realised she had some blood on her chin.  
  
“It was an accident,” she tried. She held up the finger. “I am sure Dr Roberts can stich it back on.”  
  
The eldest of the nurses, a fat old woman with a severe expression, walked up to Harmony and snatched the finger from her hand. Without saying a word, the nurses all left with Phil. Harmony stood behind alone.  
  
Harmony went into the bathroom and cleaned herself up. The mirror mocked her with its lack of reflection. At least she did not have to see her face scrunch up as she cried. Eternal life. An eternal life with no life. From High School Queen to undead loser.  
  
Harmony returned to her desk. She retrieved her high school yearbook from her drawer. So many years without a single friend. Sometimes she would go through the book, find the name of one of her old friends, google their phone number and try to call them. Everybody was so busy. Nobody invited her over or asked her to come see their kids. Not even those that were still single. She opened a random page in the book and was greeted by Willow’s face.  _Willow,_  she thought.  _Maybe a soul would be a good way to move forwards._  
  
“No, it wouldn’t.”  
  
Harmony looked up. An old woman stood before her. Harmony knew her as one of the patients. It was odd, because the woman was blind, but her pupilless eyes seemed to stare right back at Harmony.  
  
“Mrs. Williams,” Harmony said. “You should get back to your room. You need to rest before your operation.”  
  
“You’re in danger,” the old woman said. “Someone is trying to contact you. Someone that can help.”  
  
Harmony picked up her phone and dialled. “Hello,” she said. “One of your patients have gotten lost … Who? …. It is Mrs. Williams … We are down in the subfloor … the ED.”  
  
“Bring a weapon to work tomorrow,” Mrs. Williams said and rolled away with her rollator.  
  
****  
  
The next evening Harmony woke up late. She hurried into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. When she got out, she saw that someone had written ‘Don’t be a sheep’ in the fog on the mirror. There was no time to reflect. She quickly brushed her fangs, before getting to work with the blow dryer and the hair spray. There was some noise from the hall. It sounded like her roommate had invited people over for pre-club drinks  _again_. Harmony wrapped herself in a towel and ran back into her room. It took her ten minutes to find some clean work appropriate clothes. None of her clothes were really appropriate for anything. She sighed and left the room. She glanced quickly at her roommate’s party friends as she walked out into the early night.  
  
She had brought a weapon with her, just as the blind old woman had told her to do. The woman was probably just demented and mad, but the truth was Harmony was desperate for something to happen. Something interesting. Danger was preferable to the endless drudgery of her never-ending existence.   
  
Once Harmony arrived at work, it occurred to her that she had not fed in days, not counting Phil’s finger. Her last proper drink may actually have been Richard. There was no time to drop by the butcher. Instead, she snuck into the blood bank and got a bag out of the freezer. She ripped her fangs into the plastic. In her hungry desperation, she did not realise blood was trickling down onto her blouse. The taste was intoxicating. It brought forth memories of dirty dances with her James Dean boyfriend in the crypt beneath Sunnydale Cemetery.  
  
“Did you bring the weapon?”  
  
Harmony turned around, holding the leaking bag to her face. A young girl stood before her, dressed in the old Sunnydale cheerleading uniform. She had the biggest smile on her face that Harmony had ever seen. It was … “Cordelia!?”  
  
“You have something on your shirt,” Cordelia said.  
  
“Huh?” Harmony looked down. Her clothes were completely ruined. She would never be able to wash out all that blood. She put the half-empty bag back into the freezer.  
  
“You’re in rough shape, sister,” Cordelia said as she looked Harmony over.  
  
“Cordelia!” Harmony ran over and hugged her, but her arms passed right through Cordelia’s blurry shape. Harmony arms ended up hugging her own chest. “That’s right,” she said. “You’re dead.”  
  
“We’re  _not_  dead,” Cordelia corrected her. “We are still here and we are still both pretty. Have you seen some of our old classmates?”  
  
“I am so glad to see you,” Harmony sobbed. She was close to crying. It was so good to see a friend and drinking blood made her feel sorta hormonal. “But how are you here?”  
  
“I escaped,” Cordelia said. “Heaven used to be such a stuffy place, but I have been cleaning house. Some of the old guard had to go. I have wanted to return to Earth for a long time, but the path from there to here has been … closed. Until recently.”  
  
“I don’t follow…”  
  
Cordelia waved her hand with a limp wrist. “Never you mind,” she said. “That does not matter. What matters is that  _I_  am back.  _We_  are back.” She sighed. “Do you remember back in high school, Harmony, when we plotted world domination? We were going to be rich and famous lawyers and actresses.”  
  
Harmony nodded enthusiastically.  
  
“Fate dealt us a lousy hand,” Cordelia said. “Both of us had our lives ripped away before we had a real chance at the world. Now I am back to set things right.”  
  
Harmony clapped her hands and found herself jumping up and down. “So what are we going to do?”  
  
“First…” Cordelia leant in real close. “We need to get you out of here alive.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Cordelia looked at her sternly. “Now… Did you bring the weapon?”  
  
“Of course,” Harmony said and retrieved a can of mace from her purse.  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Harmony, that is  _not_  a weapon.”  
  
Harmony frowned. “ _Is_  so. For your information, it is actually illegal in many European countries.”  
  
“Did Angel never teach you how to fight?” Cordelia asked.  
  
Harmony grimaced. “Angel? Angel hated me.”   
  
Cordelia sighed. “We are going to give that dumbass such a talking to.”  
  
Harmony was about to ask what she needed a weapon for, but as she blinked her eyes, Cordelia vanished. It was as if she had never been there. Harmony just stood there holding her purse and her pepper spray. Had she been talking to herself?  
  
Harmony returned to her desk. One of the nurses asked her if a patient had bleed on her, and Harmony was forced to make up an unconvincing story. She sat down on her chair and pouted.  
  
A group of men in dark grey suits approached her desk. They exchanged glances as they noticed her bloodied clothes. “It is definitely her,” they mumbled amongst themselves. Harmony could hear them clearly, because of her supernatural hearing. “… a pre-genocide vampire.”  
  
The leader of the pack extended his arm. “Hello,” he roared. “Tom McDeere from Wolfram and Hart.”  
  
Harmony did not take his hand. Instead, she reached into her purse. “What do you want?” she asked.  
  
“As you no doubt know,” Tom said, “a lot of things are happening. The gates to hell are reopening. New vampires are being sired. The Wolf, Ram and Hart are looking to expand their operation. There is opportunity for profit. We are hiring and you … as one of the oldest supernaturals still alive on Earth … qualify for a top position.” He held his arms out. “In short: Your family wants you back.”  
  
Harmony felt doubtful. “You do realise I was just a secretary?”  
  
Tom smiled stiffly, showing all his teeth. “Secretary to the vampire with a soul. A trusted position.”  
  
“I need to think about this,” Harmony said.  
  
She got up and started walking down the hall. The suits followed her. She looked over her shoulder and tried walking faster. There were loud noises coming from the other end of the hall. Harmony looked and saw a group of men in uniform taking up position. They carried some strange weapons.  
  
“There she is,” one of the men in uniform shouted. He pointed at Harmony’s bloodied shirt. “The hostile subterrestrial.”  
  
“Come back, Miss Kendall,” the Wolfram and Hart people shouted from behind her.  
  
Harmony ran into a broom closet and squatted down in the corner. She held her head with her hands and rocked back and forth. This was way too much excitement. The soldier boys were going to dust her. The lawyers would exploit her for some perverse and nefarious plan.  
  
“Was I so bad?” Harmony sobbed. “Back in high school? Do I deserve this for being a bully?”  
  
Cordelia came walking through the wall. She did not look happy. “You’re a sheep, Harmony,” she scoffed.  
  
“I know,” Harmony cried. “I know, I know, I know.”  
  
Cordelia grabbed Harmony’s wrist. Harmony gasped. Cordelia’s hand was ghostly cold, but she could feel it.  
  
“That stops  _now_ ,” Cordelia said. “I need the old Harmony back. I need the spoiled bitch! I need the ice queen! I need you to bring your demon out!”  
  
“How?” Harmony stammered.  
  
Cordelia did not answer. She pulled Harmony to her feet and pushed her out the door. Harmony found herself surrounded by soldiers and lawyers.  
  
“Miss, Kendall,” one of the lawyer’s said. “The Wolf, Ram and Hart  _owns_  you!”  
  
“You are an abomination,” one of the soldiers yelled as he raised his weapon. “A freak of nature.”  
  
Harmony looked for an escape route. There was none. She saw Cordelia standing behind the soldiers. Harmony gave her a pleading look, but Cordelia merely gave her a determined nod. It was now or never. Time to wake up. Too long had she been asleep. Harmony stretched her arms. She felt her fangs pop out. The blood on her shirt was deliciously fragrant. Much better than her Chanel perfume.  
  
“Did nobody ever tell you,” Harmony said, barely containing a giggle, “never to corner a lioness?”  
  
The hall went dark. The soldiers fumbled to get their night googles on. Harmony saw a fire axe on the wall and smashed the glass containing it. The security lights came on. The soldiers could see again, but it was too late for them. They were standing too close together. Some of them may have heard a ghostly laughter in their final moments. None of the shots fired hit their target, but many of the lawyers were disembowelled in the crossfire.  
  
The lioness walked out alone, closely followed by the ghostly apparition of Queen C.  
  
****  
  
“This is your first vision. Are you ready?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“A vampire is chained at the top of a towering building.”  
  
“Blondie bear?”  
  
“The building bears the mark of three distinct animals.”  
  
“Is it a wolf, a ram and a bambi?”  
  
“Yes, Harmony. Those are the animals.”  
  
“I am good at this.”  
  
“Yes. Keep concentrating. A girl may be sacrificed and a door may be opened.”  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
“Close. Her  _sister._ ”


	11. Where Do You Go When You've Been Forgotten?

**Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:**  
  
“I’ll go check the fuse box!"  
  
“Stay here! We are under attack!”  
  


### Chapter 10 - Where Do You Go When You've Been Forgotten? Close Your Eyes. Let's Hit Rock Bottom!

Willow’s orb of light flew out the window and high into the air, illuminating the area surrounding Andrew’s ranch. A swarm of rabid, hungry vampires were attacking. They tumbled and fell over each other like zombies. It was as if a wave of angry bodies came crashing over the porch, dragging the fence with them.  
  
"Don't worry," Faith said. "They can't enter. This is Andrew's home."  
  
"Home?" Andrew scratched the back of his head. "It might be more correct to say it is an old ranch that I  _know_ about."  
  
Faith raised en eyebrow. "You don't actually live here?"  
  
"Out in the desert?" Andrew said. "Where there are no supermarkets?"  
  
Willow looked at Buffy. “We need you,” she said.  
  
Buffy looked terrified. “I cannot stop this,” she said. “Not even back when I was strong.”  
  
Faith rubbed her hands together. “This feels familiar. Are you with me, Angie?”  
  
Angel nodded. He looked determined, but wary.  
  
“Xander, come over to us,” Willow shouted, waving for him to join her and Buffy.  
  
“Try to get out, Will,” Xander shouted back. “I am holding the line this time. I don’t want to survive just to go back to my old life.”  
  
Willow ran over to hug him, but Xander pushed her away.  
  
“Run, Will,” he said. “I’ll try to distract them.”  
  
The window shattered. Three vampires rolled off the windowsill and onto the floor. Willow saw Buffy leap forward and stake one of them. Another grabbed Buffy’s arm, but Harmony came leaping across the room and pulled it away. Willow looked to the other side and saw Angel and Faith fighting by the front door. Faith was spinning like a whirlwind. No vamp could get past her, but she would soon have to fight two fronts, as more vampires came through the windows. A loud bang made Willow cover her ears. The rangers had gotten out their weapons and had started firing.   
  
Willow ran over to Buffy and helped her on her feet. A vampire charged at them. Buffy hit it with a left and right hook, then a jab to its nose. The vampire stumbled backwards out the window. Buffy shook her hand. It seemed as if her wrist was not yet healed.  
  
“We cannot win this, Willow,” Buffy said.  
  
“I know,” Willow agreed. “But we are surrounded.”  
  
Buffy elbowed a vampire that was about to get its claws into Willow’s shoulder. Faith came running by and staked it from behind.  
  
“Keep up the pace, B,” she snickered. “Your game is all off.”  
  
Buffy looked at Willow. “We need to make it up to the attic.”  
  
Willow pondered the idea. The attic might be defensible. She looked down the hall and tried to remember where the ladder was. When she looked back, Buffy was gone. A vampire had pushed her against the opposite wall and was beating her down. Willow grabbed a chair and charged at it. She hit the vampire once, but then someone pulled the chair away from her, making her fall onto her back. She covered her face with her hands and rolled along the floor. People and vampires were running all over her. The sound of gunshots was deafening.   
  
A dead ranger fell on top of Willow. She pushed him away and staggered up to her feet.   
  
“Lilith, call back your beasts,” she yelled. Nothing happened. “Diana, watch over me and grant me your blessing.” Willow felt a warmth in her chest. She glanced out a broken window and saw that the clouds were parting around the almost full moon.  
  
There were no sign of Xander. Faith was still tossing vampires around like a Mexican wrestler battling a horde of midgets. The vampires did not seem to be particularly strong, but they were angry and they were many.   
  
****  
  
“I need you to remove your boots before going through the scanner, Sir.”  
  
Spike lit a cigarette. “Piss off,” he said.  
  
“Pull his arm off, so we can look on it with the X-ray machine,” Drusilla said. “I want to see how his body works.”  
  
They were standing in the lobby of one of Wolfram and Harts skyscraping office buildings.   
  
“The little man is just doing his job, Dru,” Spike said.  
  
He took Drusilla by the hand and led her past the security checkpoint. The guard tried to stop them, but Spike pushed him out of the way. Being in this place was almost like a homecoming. The building was very similar to the one that had stood in Los Angeles.  
  
The elevator brought Spike and Drusilla up to the top floor. They stepped out and a group of snivelling lackeys lead them to a large room. The room was filled with humans and demons alike, though Spike and Drusilla seemed to be the only vampires.   
  
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Pratt,” one of the demons said in greetings. “My name is Mephisto.”  
  
“And my name is  _Spike._  The Bloody, if you want to be formal.”  
  
“Of course,” Mephisto said, stroking his tiny beard. “We are so pleased you are here.”  
  
“I did not come voluntarily,” Spike said. “I was kidnapped.” He pointed at Dru. “I think.”  
  
Drusilla looked indignant. “I did not drag you here,” she said.  
  
Spike shrugged. “No, I guess you didn’t.”  
  
Mephisto rubbed his hands. “What matters is that you will help us.”  
  
“I am here for the girl,” Spike declared. “She is important to Buffy and I want her.”  
  
“Of course,” Mephisto said and pointed at a circular gateway at the back of the room. It reminded Spike of the stargates from that TV show with the Macgyver-guy. “The girl has power that we need. Once she has helped open this portal, we will have no further use of her, and you can have her.”  
  
“Where is the girl?” Spike asked.  
  
“That is what we need your help to determine,” Mephisto said. “You are  _linked_  to her. With your help, we can draw her here.”  
  
Spike held his hands up. “Let’s put our cards on the table, gentleboys,” he said. “You are certainly planning to betray me. When you do that, I will rip off the heads of as many of you as I can…”  
  
“And I will watch…” Drusilla said, smacking her lips.  
  
Spike frowned at her. “And probably get real excited from the show,” he mumbled. “My point is,” he said, addressing Mephisto again. “Sticking to the deal will be wise.”  
  
“We could of course, re-negotiate the deal,” Mephisto said. “For example, we could rid you of that pesky soul of yours. Would that be a good trade for the girl?”  
  
Spike dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. “Nah! Having a soul is painful.” He shrugged. “But it is a good pain.”  
  
Drusilla grabbed Spike by the hair and shook his head playfully. “I like him as he is,” she said. “All sparkly. He is a beacon.”  
  
Mephisto winced, as if from a bad smell. “Very, well. You will have the girl when she is here and we have our portal.” He pointed to the door. “My servants will escort you to your quarters. You can rest there while we prepare the ritual.”  
  
Spike and Drusilla were led out of the room and taken to a luxurious suite. There was a carafe on the table. Spike picked it up. He was about to drink, but then he stopped himself. He looked around at the carpet, the drapes, the bedding and the beautiful furniture. It was gaudier than his mother’s home had been. He smashed the decanter against the wall, spilling wine everywhere.   
  
“Spikey, is angry,” Drusilla teased. “What for? What for? A girl will come…”  
  
Spike started walking in circles around Drusilla. His fists were clenched.  
  
“I want answers,” he sneered at her.  
  
Drusilla rubbed her temples, pretending to predict Spike’s question. “They are lace,” she said.  
  
“Stop smirking,” Spike shouted. “Tell me what is going on. Who is the girl? Why do they want her?”  
  
Drusilla gave him an innocent look. “Only you know who the girl is, Spike. That is why they need you.”  
  
“Why do you work with them?” Spike asked. “These infernal lawyers?”  
  
“I worked with them before,” she said. “Then I ate them.” She licked her lips. “Hey! So did you.” She laughed.  
  
“And that is your plan?” Spike asked. “You are going to eat them all?”  
  
Drusilla nodded enthusiastically. “And their wives, too. Later…”  
  
“How?”  
  
Drusilla put a finger to her mouth and shushed him. “Not telling!”  
  
Spike sighed. “Drusilla, my love. The years we spent together … do they matter to you? If I let you eat these lawyers, will you let me leave with the girl?” He stroked her cheek with his hand and she bit him playfully. “You know I would never let Buffy hurt you.”  
  
“She cannot hurt me,” Drusilla said. “Only in here…” She rubbed the top of her left breast.  
  
“Drusilla,” Spike said, holding her by the shoulders. “Help me take the girl from them!”  
  
“Blah, blah, blah! Dru wants blood. Dru wants screams. Dru wants to carry little girl’s body to little Slayer and make Slayer sad and very angry.”  
  
Spike shook Drusilla like a rag doll. “Why?”  
  
“So, she will play with me,” Drusilla said. “Nobody plays anymore. Everyone has been sleeping.”  
  
“She will kill you, Dru,” Spike yelled.  
  
Drusilla grabbed Spike’s hand and bent it backwords. Spike responded by hitting her across the face. Drusilla reeled away from him, but it did not take long for her to get her bearings again. She pulled one of her long gloves from her hand and used her sharpened nails to scratch up the side of Spike’s face. The sound of her mad cackling filled Spike’s ears. It made him angry. He lifted her up and threw her against the window. The strong glass did not break. Drusilla bounced back off it and landed upon the table below.   
  
“I should have done this a long time ago,” Spike said as he walked over to her.  
  
Before Spike could reach her, Drusilla was on her feet again. Her agile form swung itself up on the bookshelf, and from there, she pounced down on Spike. They rolled around on the floor. Spike tried to push Dru away, but she clung to him like a vice.   
  
After a long struggle, Spike felt something press against his ribcage. Drusilla had gotten hold of the shattered leg of a table, and she held it right above his heart. There was no escape. She was the strongest of them.  
  
“Do it,” Spike dared her.  
  
“Why?” Drusilla asked him.  
  
Spike spat. “Because I  _hate_  you!”  
  
She grinned at him. “Enough to love me?”   
  
She flung the table leg away. Spike tried to move, but Dru had him locked between her agile legs. Her nails ripped up the cleavage in her dress. Then she cut a line beneath her collar bone. Blood started dripping down.  
  
“Come to me,” she groaned and pulled Spike’s face to her bosom.  
  
Spike could not stop himself. He drank what she offered. Drusilla started rocking back and forth. Spike felt her grind against his lap. Blood flowed into him and inside him. The beast took control. It wanted her.   
  
****  
  
“Drusilla…”  
  
Spike blinked. He was standing before the large metallic gateway he had been shown earlier. His arms were stretched out, bound to the walls by long chains. So, he had been betrayed … by WRH and Drusilla both. Not that it mattered. This was not over yet. Spike was no expert, but he knew enough to realise that using technology to harness magical powers was a bad idea. The machines they had built here were going to fail. He knew that … even Dru probably knew that. That was why she had been so smug.  
  
He heard the sound of footsteps behind him. An old man had entered the room. There was something familiar about him.  
  
“Hello, hostile 17,” the man said.  
  
“You are not from the army,” Spike said.   
  
“I  _am_  in a way,” the man said. “I’ve been locked inside their secret prison in Nevada for more years than I like to count.” He extended his hand, but since Spike was unable to shake it, he merely waved. “I am Ethan Rayne,” the man said. “We’ve never actually met before, though you may have caught a glimpse of me when I was dragged out of Sunnydale.”  
  
“You’re with the firm?” Spike asked.  
  
“In a way,” Ethan said. “I was able to break out of my prison when the hellmouths recently opened. Then I fled to Wolf, Ram and Hart and helped them build this machine.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“To save the world, of course,” Ethan said. “The military is seeking to close the hellmouths. We are making a new one.”  
  
“So, you’re one of the good guys?” Spike mumbled.  
  
Ethan laughed. “Oh! I am not,” he said. “Not really. But neither are you. Not really.” He laughed. Then he frowned. “All the people working in this building will die.”  
  
“I won’t cry for them,” Spike grumbled.  
  
“I suspect you won’t,” Ethan said, “except perhaps for the girl. I am here to tell you that she is a necessary sacrifice.”  
  
Spike grinned. “Nothing is necessary,” he spat.  
  
“Normally, I would agree with you,” Ethan said. “However, this place will go up in flames and uncontrollable powers will be released into the world. I will get you out of here before that happens. I need you to promise me not to come back for the girl.”  
  
“Why would I promise that?”  
  
“Because I have other uses for you,” Ethan said. “The military initiative that put that chip into your brain … They have been replaced by a far worse lot. You need to find Buffy and help her stop them.”  
  
“Just tell me one thing,” Spike said. “The girl … she is Buffy’s sister, isn’t she?”  
  
“Yes,” Ethan said. “She is.”  
  
“Buffy would never let her sister die,” Spike said. “She will try to save her.”  
  
Ethan laughed. “Buffy is not like you remember her, Spikey. In time, she may be. However, the power released from this place will take time to reach her, but once it does. It will be far too late for her sister.”  
  
“What are you babbling about?”  
  
“Buffy once gave her life for her sister. Now her sister must pay her back.”  
  
Ethan snapped his fingers and he was gone … vanished in a puff of smoke.   
  
****  
  
Willow pulled her face up from the floor. She was bleeding from the nose. How long had it been? It felt like the fight had lasted forever, but it had probably only been a couple of minutes. The dizziness made walking difficult, so she crawled across the floor on her hands and knees. It occurred to her that it might be safest to lay still, while the vampires were distracted.  
  
Then she noticed Buffy laying against the wall. For a terrible moment, Willow though she was dead. Then she saw her cough. Buffy mattered. Buffy was her best friend. Buffy was the one who could save the world. Willow had to help her get out alive. She ran over and wrapped Buffy’s arm around her own neck.  
  
“Wake up, Buff,” she yelled in her ear. “We must get moving.”  
  
Buffy merely groaned in response, but her legs were pushing her upwards. Willow dragged her along. They managed to make it inside one of the guest rooms. Willow dropped Buffy onto one of the sleeping bags. The sound of shuffling vampire feet came from the hall. Willow slammed the door shut and locked it.  
  
_What are the words?_  she thought desperately. “There is no door,” she shouted. The door shook and the hinges squeaked. “Oh, Goddess, what am I saying!? There  _is_  a door. A  _very_  hard and solid door. Matter over mind. Matter is real. The door is there.”  
  
Willow stood by the door and chanted for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, her mind could not bear the strain anymore and she drifted into a deep sleep.   
  
****  
  
“Get up, Red!”  
  
Willow woke up to Faith shaking her.  
  
“So this is where you have been hiding?”  
  
Willow looked around. Buffy sat silently in the corner. Her bruises had grown. She was now blue and yellow all over.  
  
“We … we are live?” Willow stammered.  
  
“Yes,” Faith said. “No thanks to you two.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Some soldier boys attacked,” Faith said. “They killed most of the vampires, but pulled back once their losses became too great.”  
  
“Did we lose anyone?”  
  
“Quite a lot. Xander…” Faith held her breath. “… is alive and well. So is Andrew.”  
  
Willow looked down. “Good,” was all she could say.  
  
“Not good,” Faith said. “More than half of our boy scouts are sprayed and splattered across the walls.” She looked away. “And the soldier boys took off with Angel.”  
  
“Angel…”  
  
“So, that is the next stop,” Faith said. “Xander and I are going to find Connor, then we will bust Angel out.”  
  
Willow stood up. “I am coming, too.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Faith told her.  
  
“What?”   
  
Faith crossed her arms. “I don’t trust you. I think you helped cause this.”  
  
Willow swallowed. “That is not fair.”  
  
“Isn’t it?”  
  
Willow froze. It was  _Buffy_  who spoke.  
  
“Willow, you  _did_  work to open the hellmouths,” Buffy continued.  
  
Willow span around. “So?”  
  
Buffy looked up from the floor and faced Willow directly. “Would this have happened without you?”  
  
Willow pointed her finger at Buffy and Faith in turn. “You two have no idea what you are talking about. You have no idea about what I have prevented.”  
  
“Do  _you?”_  Faith asked. “Or are you just guessing?”  
  
Willow looked down. “I am not sure,” she admitted, “but I can help. What has started cannot be stopped. You will need me.”  
  
“I think we will manage fine,” Faith said. “I want a reliable crew.” She looked at Buffy. “How about you, B. Wanna come save your boyfriend?”  
  
“I can’t,” Buffy said. “I must get home to my husband and my boys and try to salvage what is left of my life. I should never have left them.”  
  
“Let me come with you,” Willow said to Buffy. “Please, let me help.”  
  
“I don’t think you can, Will,” Buffy said. Her voice was cold and restrained. “Things have fallen apart and I need to fix them. My boys … they are all I have.”  
  
Faith gave Buffy a soft shoulder punch. “Take care then, B. Sorry, I was harsh with you earlier. You took some good punches before you went down.” She smiled and put her head on the side. “I sometimes miss the times when we were two hot chicks with superpowers.”  
  
“Me, too,” Buffy said. “But I have a different life now.” She looked at Willow. “Don’t be angry with me,” she said. “I have to go.”  
  
Faith and Buffy left. Willow followed after them. The living room stank. There were dead bodies everywhere. Most of them were Andrew’s young friends. The rest were dressed in military uniforms. Willow felt as though her stomach was trying to digest a sharp splinter. She had found Buffy only to lose her again. Now all these people were dead. For what? They had killed some brainless vampire thralls. Not a reasonable exchange.  
  
Willow went into the kitchen. Xander was there. Willow swung her arms around him and kissed his cheek.  
  
“You held the line,” she sobbed.  
  
“I was knocked unconscious,” Xander admitted. “Faith and those strange soldiers saved us.”  
  
Willow squeezed him tightly. “Are you going with, Faith?”  
  
“Yes,” he said and patted her back.  
  
“She won’t let me come.”  
  
“I know.” Xander’s voice was pained. “I tried to change her mind, but she is the boss now. She earned it.”  
  
“Come with me, instead,” Willow pleaded. “Going against the military. It sounds like a fool’s errand.”  
  
Xander laughed. “Willow, I  _am_  a fool. I only forgot to be a  _brave_  fool. You have no idea how good it feels to be back in the game.”  
  
Willow pulled back from the hug. “I think I know,” she said, “but we need to fight smart. Faith thinks I am the puppet master, but I am not. We need to find out who opened the hellmouths.”  
  
Xander looked at her discerningly. “So that we can close them?” he asked.  
  
“No…” Willow sighed. “Not to close them. They need to be open. Why can’t people understand that?”  
  
Xander pointed at the door. “Because half the bodies in the living room are missing their limbs.”  
  
“That is certainly … regrettable.”  
  
“Willow.” Xander was trying to speak in his serious voice. “You are playing with fire.”  
  
Willow started to say something, but words failed her. Everyone was so unbelievably stupid. She was about to leave, but turned on her heel and came back. “Do you know what happens when there is no fire, Xander?” she asked. “It gets  _cold!”_  
  
Xander raised an eyebrow. “Cold?”  
  
“Cold as in you-must-have-whiskey-to-keep-warm-cold!”  
  
Willow stormed out. They did not know. They had no idea what they were in for. Perhaps she should go back and show them her resolve face. She figured it was no use. They would not listen. Was she out of the game, then? Certainly not. She still had one friend. Someone who had  _never_  failed her … except maybe once. She thought for a moment. Maybe her friend was happy the magic was gone, no longer having to feel its pull over body and soul. That could be, however, no one else would be willing to hear her out.  
  
A wind was blowing. Diana’s full moon shone down upon her. Willow closed her eyes. She made herself feel light. She was light as air. She let the winds carry her … back to Sunnydale … to the Hellmouth.   
  
****  
  
Buffy sat alone on the bus taking her home. Andrew had paid her ticket and given her some money for food. Before she had left, she had cleaned her wounds, taken a shower and gotten a new change of clothes. Otherwise, she had no possessions. She did not even have her credit card or the key to her apartment. When she got home, she would probably find herself jobless and homeless.  
  
A woman in a burka entered the bus at one of the stops. She sat down next to Buffy, even though there were plenty of available seat.   
  
“It is me,” the woman whispered.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Vision Girl!”  
  
“Harmony?”  
  
“I managed to loose myself among the other vampires,” she said.  
  
“I hope you did not eat anyone to get that disguise,” Buffy snorted.  
  
“What? No! I had this in the car,” Harmony said. “It is not religious, it is medical. For my sensitive skin.”  
  
“Right!” Buffy groaned and looked out the window. “Where are you going? Don’t tell me we live in the same town.”  
  
Harmony passed her a photograph. “I just wanted to give you this,” she said.  
  
Buffy looked at it. It was a picture of herself and her mother.  
  
“Thanks,” she said.  
  
“As you know,” Harmony said, “we will be driving past the Sunnydale crater. Look at the picture again when we are closer.”  
  
Buffy did as instructed. To her surprise, she saw the picture change. She could see the transparent form of someone else appearing. An unexplainable feeling of guilt came over her. There was something she had forgotten, and it had been gnawing on her mind for a long time without her knowledge.  
  
“Harmony, who is this?”  
  
“That,” Harmony said from under her robe, “is the key to save the world.”  
  
****  
  
Willow was standing on the rim of the Sunnydale crater. She heard the bus off in the distance and she knew Buffy was on it. It did not matter. Willow had accepted it. Their paths had diverged.  
  
A wind blew up from the crater. Willow allowed the power to engulf her. It was incredible. It poured into her skin and filled her veins up with juicy power. Her hair changed colours until it achieved an almost bluish tint. Her pupils grew large and dark. This was something she had missed. If Buffy could only feel  _this_  again.  
  
“Tara,” Willow whispered. “If you can hear me, be my guide. I  _will_  restore the balance, whatever it costs me. If I fail, forgive me.” The wind carried her words back down to the Hellmouth and hopefully through it, into the Beyond. “Or don’t … your choice.”  
  
It would be a dangerous climb down to the ruin of the old school, but Willow had not planned on climbing. She siphoned more power from the Hellmouth and used it to make the yellow bricks float in the air and construct a road for her to walk upon. Nobody else was using this magic. It was all for her. She alone had access.   
  
Her whole body tingled. The closer she came to the centre, the more intense it got. Electrical currents were running through her body and through her hair. Eventually, she was swallowed up and whisked away.   
  
****  
  
Dawn opened her eyes. Spike sat cross-legged before her. The flickering candlelight lit half his face, making him look real sexy.   
  
“Tell me the story,” Dawn said. “About the girl in the coal bin.”  
  
Spike sighed. “I don’t like that story.”  
  
“Then tell me another one.”  
  
Spike leant forward and looked at her. “They will kill you, you now. If you become real again, they will kill you.”  
  
“But you will protect me,” Dawn stammered. She shivered. A draft blew in from the crypt’s entrance.  
  
“I am not sure I can, Bit.”  
  
“Then Buffy will come for us.”  
  
“Then Buffy will come…”


	12. The Girl in the Coal Bin

### Chapter 11 - The Girl in the Coal-Bin

Spike was standing outside the Summers’ house in Sunnydale. He had not been there in a long time. It felt weird to be back. He could not remember quite how he got there. There seemed to be a party going on. Should he go inside? He lit a cigarette, as he pondered the question. Then someone ran into him.  
  
“Geez! Lurk much?”  
  
It was Dawn. He remembered now. She was Buffy’s sister. Her outline was a little blurry, as if his eyes needed time to adjust to her, but he knew who she was.  
  
“I wasn’t lurking,” Spike told her. “I was standing about. It’s a whole different vibe.”  
  
Dawn folded her arms and grinned at him. “Are you giving Buffy a birthday present?”  
  
Spike looked down. There was box of chocolates tucked under his arm.  _Where the hell did they come from?_ He held the box up to Dawn.  
  
“Want some?” he asked.  
  
Dawn tilted her head. “That is not what you say.” She looked at him strangely.  
  
Spike scratched his head. What the bloody hell was going on? “Ah,” he said. “I remember.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Shouldn't you be tucked away in your beddy-bye? All warm and safe where nothing can eat you?”  
  
Dawn just laughed at him. “Is that supposed to scare me?”  
  
Spike sighed. “A little tremble wouldn’t hurt.”  
  
Dawn grinned. “Sorry, it’s just ... come on.  _I’m_  badder than you.”  
  
Spike groaned. “Can we move this along?”  
  
Dawn punched him in the shoulder. “Stop saying the wrong things.”  
  
Spike ripped the lid off the box of chocolates. “I am not playing by the rules anymore,” he declared and shoved a handful of chocolates into his mouth.  
  
Dawn looked at him oddly. She seemed confused. Then she shrugged and helped herself to some chocolates.  
  
“I guess we can improvise a little,” she said. “I want to go to the magic shop.”  
  
“I want to go in and say hi to Buffy first,” Spike said.  
  
“You are not coming with me?” Dawn looked distraught.  
  
“I’ll just be a minute,” Spike promised. “I haven’t seen the bird in 20 years.”  
  
Dawn was tugging at his arm. “Come back, Spike,” she begged. “I need you.”  
  
Spike ignored her and knocked on the door. Someone was coming. It was Buffy. He recognised the rhythm of her footsteps. He felt the smell of her perfume and her musk. The door opened. The hall beyond lay in utter darkness. Buffy was not there. Spike fell inside. He heard Dawn crying above him.  
  
****  
  
Spike opened his eyes. He was staring into the ugly mug of Mephisto the demon. The pounce was stroking his little beard. Drusilla was there, too. She was humming to herself. The headache came back. Spike pulled at his chains, but he could not break free. He wanted to rip out the tubes they had inserted into his skin. They were filling his blood with all kinds of dirty chemicals.  
  
“You lost contact again,” Mephisto said.  
  
“I am starting to remember,” Spike said. “Dawn…”  
  
“Increase the dosage,” Mephisto said to his lackeys.  
  
Spike’s screamed. It felt as if a hundred needles were scratching the surface of his brain, trying to drill their way inside. Everything went black.  
  
****  
  
Someone was pulling at his arm. Spike allowed himself to be dragged along. It was Dawn. She was taking him to the magic shop.  
  
“You’re not leaving me,” Dawn said.  
  
“Uh-huh!” Spike felt dizzy from all the drugs pumped into his brain.  
  
“I need to find out what they are hiding from me,” Dawn said. “Buffy and Giles. They know something.”  
  
They arrived at the Magic Box. Spike got on his knees and began working the lock. Dawn was impatient. She tapped her foot as he worked. Spike grumbled at her. It took him a while, but eventually there was a click and the door swung open.  
  
“Who’s bad now?” Spike asked triumphantly.  
  
Dawn ignored him. She ran inside and went to the back of the counter. After searching for a moment, she found a book hidden inside a drawer. She quickly scanned through the pages. Then she stopped and glared up at Spike.  
  
“Did you know?” she asked him.  
  
He shrugged. “Know what?”  
  
“That … that I’m not  _real,_ ” she said.  
  
“Real? Of course you’re real,” Spike said. “How could you not be real?”  
  
“You’re lying,” Dawn said. Her voice shook with anger.  
  
“Look, bit. I am just confused as you are.” Spike rubbed his forehead. “It is these bloody drugs they put in me.”  
  
“Get out!” Dawn yelled.  
  
“Now wait just a minute…”  
  
“GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!  
  
****  
  
Spike awoke to the sound of someone screaming their lungs out. He tried to break himself free, so he could cover his ears. It was in vain. His hands were locked in place. Then he realised that the screams he heard were his own.  
  
“It is not working,” Mephisto growled.  
  
“It  _is_ working,” a man assured him. It was Ethan Rayne. “The signal is becoming clearer. Just a few more tries and we have her pinned.”  
  
Drusilla clapped her hands. “Then we open the portal,” she sang. “And let the badness in.”  
  
“All in due time, Dru,” Ethan told her.  
  
“Now, listen here,” Spike said and rattled his chains. “You better let me out before…”  
  
Ethan ignored him. He put his hand on Spike’s forehead and everything went black again.  
  
****  
  
Where was he now? He was at the bottom of a set of stairs. He heard the sound of a tap being turned on. Steam came out of the bathroom. He was about to ascend, when…  
  
“Don’t go up,” Dawn said. She had her hand on his wrist.  
  
“Why?” he asked.  
  
“You  _know_  why,” she said.  
  
“I wasn’t going to…” he assured her.  
  
“But you will,” she said bitterly. “Stay here!”  
  
“Your sister and I just need to talk things out,” Spike said. “It will all be okay. I just need to explain about Anya.”  
  
“You went up there,” Dawn said. Tears were appearing at the corners in her eyes. “You went up there after talking to me. How do you think that made me feel?”  
  
Spike sat down on the steps. Images floated up to the surface of his mind. He saw himself pushing Buffy to ground. He heard her beg him to stop. He just needed a little time. She needed to understand. His hands pulled her bathrobe open. Then he received a kick to the stomach that threw him against the wall. She looked at him with such utter contempt. The soul in his chest was scorching him from the inside.  
  
“I am not going up,” he told Dawn.  
  
“Good,” Dawn said.  
  
Spike stood up. “I am going back to my crypt,” he said. “Say goodbye to your sister from me. I won’t be back.”  
  
Spike left the house and went out into the night. He had no idea what he was going to do. Without Buffy, he was nothing. He had no place and no purpose, especially with this chip in his head. What was he going to do? Should he just go around fighting demons randomly? What would be the fun in that? If only…  
  
_Wait a minute…  
  
_ Spike was hallway down the street when he realised something was wrong. This was not real. He was inside a memory or something. This was the past, but it was all muddled. Why had he come here? He rubbed his temples. Dawn! He had come here to get Dawn. That was his purpose.  
  
He ran back into the house. Dawn was not there. He went to the stairs. Buffy seemed to be gone, too. He heard nothing from the bathroom. He went outside again. The streets were deserted. Spike kicked a dustbin in frustration, making it roll down the empty road. No cars came.  
  
Then he saw something in the distance. It was a crude tower made of wood and other makeshift materials. Spike ran towards it. He knew Dawn would be on top. Lightning lit up the sky. A dragon roared in the distance. Spike ignored it all. He ran as fast as his undead legs could carry him. There were nobody at the base of the tower. No demon minions, no hell-god, no mental patients and no Buffy. Spike sprinted up the stairs.  
  
At the top, he found her. Her hands were bound with rope. An old man stood between Spike and her. It looked like an old man, at least.  
  
“Hey, Doc,” Spike called to him. “Why don’t you and me have a go.”  
  
“I don’t smell a soul anywhere on you,” Doc said. “Why do you even care?”  
  
Spike grabbed the demon’s neck and pulled out its throat. “Actually, I have a soul now,” he said to the demon’s crumbling corpse. “But it hasn’t made me much nicer.”  
  
“Spike!”  
  
Spike kicked the remains of the demon off the edge. He saw them tumble against the tower until they crashed into the concrete below. Then he looked at Dawn.  
  
“I am sorry,” he said to her. “I don’t really understand what happened to you, but I am sorry. Let’s get you back into the real world.”  
  
“Really?” Dawn smiled.  
  
“Yes,” Spike said.  
  
They stood and looked at each other. Nothing was happening. Spike looked at his shoes, then back up at Dawn.  
  
“Damn it! I had hoped that…”  
  
Spike stopped speaking. The area around Dawn was coming fuzzy – out of focus. It was as if the reality surrounding them was collapsing. His arms swung outwards. He tried to bring them together again, but they were locked in place. Drusilla’s cold laughter rang in his ears. Mephisto’s ugly mug appeared before him. Ethan stood in the background, coldly observing. He was back with Wolfram and Hart, but this time … Dawn was there, too. She stood before him, chained as he was. There was a look of absolute horror on her face.  
  
“It worked,” Mephiso said. “The girl is here.”  
  
“Oooh! Goody!” Drusilla exclaimed. “Let’s bleed her now.”  
  
“Just a little bit,” Ethan warned. “We need to test the machine.”  
  
He stuck a needle into the vein in Dawn’s wrist. Her blood was sucked through a plastic tube and into the machine adjacent to the metal gateway. The apparatuses started to spark and hiss. Ethan smiled.  
  
“Look at the readings,” he said to Mephisto. “They are already more than we need.”  
  
“More blood,” Drusilla chanted. “Drain it all.”  
  
“We need to keep it stable,” Ethan warned. “And we need to test it.”  
  
He went over to Spike and unlocked his chains. Spike fell forward into his arms. His muscles were completely numb. When he tried to move them, he felt a painful tingle. Ethan dragged him across the floor towards the gateway.  
  
“The girl,” Spike gasped. “I want the girl.” His voice was weak and hoarse. “Drusilla…”  
  
She laughed down at him. There was no sign of sympathy in her eyes, only sadistic glee. He cursed her in his mind, because it was too hard to speak. Ethan turned the dials on the machine. A fluidlike mirror appeared inside the gateway. The portal was open.  
  
“Like a key in a lock,” Mephisto said, clearly in awe of what he saw.  
  
Ethan pulled Spike up and tossed him over his shoulder. The old man was surprisingly strong. Spike just hang there. He tried desperately to move his fingers. The pain was excruciating. His muscles tingled as his blood flooded back into his limbs. It felt as though his skull would tear in two. They were almost at the portal. Spike looked at Dawn. She seemed as if she was about to faint. The chains that held her kept her from collapsing onto the hard floor. Spike wanted to scream, but he could not. Then Ethan threw him into the portal, and the room and everyone in it vanished from view.  
  
Everything started to spin. The pressure pulled his head backwards. His eyes watered. It felt like being tossed about by a whirlwind. It had to stop. He could not take it much longer without barfing blood. Then he dove into a pair of dustbins. He rolled around on the ground, covered in garbage. The effect of the drugs had started to subside. After a while, he managed to sit up. He looked around. He knew where he was. He was outside of Matt’s house.  
  
****  
  
The sun went down. Harmony pulled off her burka. The rest of the passengers on the bus looked surprised to see her voluminous blonde locks.  
  
“Where was I?” Harmony asked herself, before continuing. “Oh yes! You see, on the weekends we always got people with the strangest injuries…”  
  
“Harmony!” Buffy could not stand a moment more of the jabbering. “I need to know more about this picture.”  
  
Buffy looked at the picture again. Her younger self and her mother smiled back at her, but the mysterious girl was gone. As soon as the bus had driven past the Sunnydale crater, she had faded away from the picture.  
  
Harmony tilted her head. “It is your sister,” she said.  
  
“My sister? I don’t have a sister.”  
  
“That’s what I said, but  _she_ insists you do.”  
  
Buffy looked around. “Who?”  
  
Harmony smiled nervously. “My contact with the Powers That Be, of course.”  
  
Buffy frowned. Harmony was clearly hiding something. It made little sense for the Higher Powers to have chosen Harmony as their medium. Still, Harmony was obviously getting intel from  _somewhere.  
  
_ “How did the Powers first contact you, Harmony?” Buffy asked.  
  
“Well, you know, the usual,” Harmony said with a smile and a shrug. “Dreams and stuff.”  
  
It was impossible to get any answers out of Harmony. She was her usual ditsy, vacuous, boring self. There was no sign of secret mischief in her demeanour. She just seemed lonely and happy to talk. Buffy felt unwilling to indulge her. It had been a long week. She needed some sleep. Her head tilted sideways and she drifted off into dreamland.   
  
“Am I real? Am I anything?”  
  
The mysterious girl staggered towards her. She held a long kitchen knife in one hand. Blood flowed from a deep cut she had made in the other. The girl’s expression was accusatory. Buffy realised she had failed somehow. Then it struck her. She had forgotten her sister. The sister who had been created from her own blood, making her technically a daughter. The sister she had sacrificed herself to save. Where had she been all these years? Was she dead? Had she simply vanished from existence?  
  
Buffy’s eyes sprang open. She saw Harmony looking at her. Buffy grabbed her by the throat and pushed her off her seat and onto the floor. Harmony screamed in shock. Buffy perched upon her and held her down by the shoulders.  
  
“Where is Dawn?” Buffy yelled.  
  
“Get off me!” Harmony screamed. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Buffy shook Harmony with all her strength. “The girl in the picture? Where is she?”  
  
Harmony’s brow furrowed. Her features hardened. Fangs appeared at the sides of her mouth. She grabbed Buffy and threw her across the isle of the bus. Buffy landed on her back and slid across the floor. The bus screeched to a halt, making Buffy slide all the way to the front.  
  
“How do you get off, Slayer?” Harmony growled.  
  
She was walking towards Buffy. There was a dangerous fire in her eyes. Buffy scrambled to her feet. It felt as though her spine had snapped in half.  
  
“Give me my sister,” Buffy yelled in impotent rage.  
  
Harmony crossed her arms. “Or what?”  
  
Buffy tried to hit her, but Harmony caught her fist in her palm and held it fast.  
  
Harmony tilted her head. “Wow. That is quite pathetic.”  
  
Buffy shook her hand free. Harmony snickered.  
  
“Here’s how it is,” Harmony said. “Your sister is held captive in the Wolfram and Hart building downtown.” Her voice was strangely stiff, as if she was merely dictating someone else’s words. “Being the great hero, you will likely want to save her. You will fail and they will kill you, but with a bit of luck, you might be able to disrupt their operation.”  
  
“You have no idea what you are talking about, Harmony,” Buffy sneered. “I will…”  
  
Harmony sighed. “I have a pretty good idea. Now will you move out of the way, or will I have to toss you off the bus?”  
  
Buffy stepped aside, letting Harmony walk past her. The passengers all looked at them in horror. There was no use staying on the bus. The driver did not look like he was going to move anytime soon. Buffy left without a word.  
  
She had arrived not far from Matt’s house. She was hungry and had no money to get downtown. The house was still partly her own. So was the car. She hoped Matt would not be home.  
  
Buffy arrived at the house and used the key in the flowerpot to lock herself in. It was dark. It did not look as if anyone was home. The living room table was littered with old beer cans. They stank, bearing witness to how long they had been left there. Buffy found some yogurt in the fridge.  
  
When she came back into the living room, she noticed something on the mantelpiece that caught her attention. It was a picture Matt had taken of Buffy just after they first met. Buffy held it up. Dawn was in it. She had her arms around Buffy. They both looked so happy and carefree. Buffy started crying. Tears streamed freely. She did not hear the two men that were sneaking up behind her.  
  
“Drop the picture and hold up your arms,” a voice told her.  
  
Buffy turned around. A man in a black suit was aiming a gun at her. Another came up behind him. Buffy wiped her tears.  
  
“Who are you?” she asked.  
  
“You probably know who we are,” the armed man said. “We are with the government initiative to exterminate the hostile subterrestrials and control the transhuman population.”  
  
Buffy held her hands up. “Transhuman?”  
  
“That is you, ma’am,” the man said.  
  
Buffy laughed. “There is certainly nothing trans about me,” she said. “Not lately, anyway.”  
  
Someone had silently entered the room. A man with curly white hair and hollowed cheeks. His shirt was thorn and his wrists were heavily bruised. His gait was unsteady, as if drunk.  
  
“Spike!”  
  
The armed man turned around to see who had entered. Buffy took the opportunity to grab a clock from the mantelpiece and smash him over the head with it. He staggered forward into Spike’s arms. The vampire grabbed the man’s jaw and broke his neck with a quick motion.  
  
“Spike,” Buffy yelled. “You killed him.”  
  
“Hello, luv,” Spike said. He tilted his head and squinted at Buffy. “Haven’t changed a bit,” he said unconvincingly.  
  
The remaining initiative agent charged at Buffy. Buffy receive one hit across her temples and one in her stomach, which knocked the air out of her. She gasped for breath. The man raised his fist again, but Spike came up behind him and caught his arm, before he could strike.  
  
“Don’t kill him,” Buffy said.  
  
Spike lifted the man up by the arm. “He hurt you,” he said.  
  
“Yes, but don’t…”  
  
Spike turned and looked at her. His expression was pained. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Why did you not fight back?”  
  
Spike grabbed the man’s neck, brought him closer and bit in. Once he was drained, Spike dropped his dead body onto the floor.  
  
“I told you  _not_  to kill him,” Buffy yelled.  
  
Spike stretched his arms. “I needed that,” he said. “Feeling all better now.”  
  
Buffy backed away. “Spike, what  _the hell_  is wrong with you.”  
  
Spike swaggered towards her. Blood trickled from his chin onto his thorn shirt. “What’s the matter?” he asked her. “You look nervous.”  
  
“You’re scaring me,” Buffy said.  
  
“How could I possibly frighten  _you_ , Slayer?”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Buffy yelled.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I’m not,” Buffy said. “Dawn is in danger and I cannot save her.”  
  
Spike stared at her. Then he started to laugh. It was not a natural laugh. He looked completely off his head. “This is what I have fought for?” he asked. “This is what I have dreamed about?” He took the bottle of whiskey that stood on the top of bookshelf and sat himself down on the sofa.  
  
“Spike!” Buffy yelled. “I need your help!”  
  
“Spike is not here,” Spike sang. “Spike is going to drink himself away.” He put the bottle to his lips and turned it upside down. Bubbles appeared inside.  
  
“Spike! Dawn is in danger.”  
  
“I know exactly where Dawn is,” Spike said. “One vampire and a tired old woman is not going to be able to spring her free.”  
  
Buffy gaped. “Did you just call me a tired old woman?”  
  
“A tired old woman who could not defend herself against a single pounce in a suit,” Spike said.  
  
****  
  
Spike had waited so long to see Buffy again. Since his resurrection in Los Angeles, there had not been a single day that he had not fantasised about meeting her again. The idea had terrified him, though. Would she still love him? Could she forgive him all he had put her through? However, none of that mattered now. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Buffy had changed. He could see nothing of the woman he had fallen in love with.  
  
He took a big gulp of whiskey. It was all over. There was no way he could break into Wolfram and Hart by himself. What was the point of leaping into the fray just to be humiliated by Drusilla and those goons in suits? There was nothing left to do, but drink.  
  
The door slammed shut, making the whole room vibrate. Spike looked up. The room was empty. Buffy had gone. Spike heard the sound of a car starting up in the driveway.  
  
_She’s bloody crazy,_ Spike though.  _Is she really going to..?_

 

 


	13. Return of the Vampire Slayer

  


### Chapter 12 - Return of the Vampire Slayer

Bob looked at the monitor. The picture had gone dark. His boss had warned him there might be interference today. The big suits were performing some magic experiment upstairs, which could cause some minor technical problems. He hated this job. Sadly, Wolfram and Hart were the only ones who would hire someone with his criminal record.  
  
The elevator doors opened. One of the other guards stepped out. Bob could not remember his name.  
  
“Did you hear about, George?” the other guard asked.  
  
Bob shook his head.  
  
“He let them cut off his arm,” the other guard said.  
  
Bob spewed his coffee. “Really?”  
  
The second guard brought him some tissues. “Yes, this warlock wanted it for a sacrifice,” he said. “George earned a promotion and a new dental plan.”  
  
“How is George?”  
  
“Dead of course.” The second guard laughed. Then he punched Bob in the shoulder. “Here is a free tip, new guy,” he said. “Keep your head low and don’t make any deals … especially if they seem too good to be true.”  
  
The sound of shattered glass made them both turn and look. A woman had broken her way through the front door. She was carrying a duffel bag in her hand. Her clothes were ill fitting an unattractive. Her hair was in a mess. She looked like a homeless drifter. Probably harmless, but there was a look of determination in her eyes that made the Bob uneasy.  
  
“Ma’am, please stand where you are,” he said. “You are breaking and entering into a private building.”  
  
“I am going to the top floor,” the woman said.  
  
“Ma’am, we will remove you by force…”  
  
The woman dropped her duffel bag on the floor and retrieved a flask from it. The guard was not surprised to see that it was vodka. The woman unscrewed the cork, but then she did something surprising. She stuck a handkerchief inside and lit it on fire. The draft from outside carried the distinct smell of gasoline with it.  
  
“Listen, kiddo,” the woman said. “I am going to have a conversation with the people upstairs. We are going to discuss some adult subjects, there may be some harsh language and then there will definitely be violence. I would get out of dodge.”  
  
Both guards reached for their guns. Big mistake. The lit bottle came towards them. Bob managed to leap out of the way of the fireball, but he lost his gun. It slid across the floor. The other guard was screaming. Bob looked up and saw that the man’s sleeve was on fire. The sprinkler system came on and the fire alarm start howling. Where had the woman gone?  
  
Bob received a boot to his jaw. His vision blurred. The woman dragged him up by his sleeve. He felt a knife prick against his throat.  
  
“Before you pass out,” the woman whispered in his ear. “I want the pin code to your security card.”  
  
****  
  
“‘…. when will that be?’ say the bells of Stepney. ‘I do not know,’ say the great bells of Bow, ‘Here comes a candle to light you to bed. Here comes a chopper to chop off your head. Chip chop chip chop - the last girl is dead.’”  
  
Drusilla drew a nail across her throat for emphasis.  
  
“Who are you?” Dawn asked. She tried to move away, but her chains held her fast.  
  
“I’m the girl in the white dress,” Drusilla said.  
  
This was a nightmare. Dawn had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. Her last memory was seeing Spike be thrown into the portal behind her. A tube was sucking her blood into a large tank inside a machine. She already felt lightheaded.  
  
“Don’t bother the girl, Dru,” an old man said. “I have a job for you. I need you to kill the engineers in the lunchroom.”  
  
“Oh! Goody!” Drusilla scampered away.  
  
“My name is Ethan Rayne,” the old man said to Dawn. “I am so sorry for what I have to do to you.”  
  
“Let me go,” Dawn begged.  
  
“Sorry, little girl,” Ethan said. “We all have a purpose in this world and your purpose is clear. The world will be reborn with magic and you are the key to make that happen.”  
  
Dawn spat in his face. “I am a  _person,_ ” she yelled at him.  
  
Ethan wiped his face on his sleeve. “Not for much longer,” he said. “My machine will absorb your essence.” He touched her face. “This body is just a mask. A dead husk to be thrown aside as you ascend to greatness.”  
  
Drusilla returned. Her white dress was red with blood. “The other men are coming,” she said. “They are very angry.”  
  
“You fool,” Ethan snapped at her. “You were not supposed to let anyone see you.”  
  
Drusilla rubbed her tummy. “But it feels better when someone is watching,” she pouted. “They cheer me on with their song.”  
  
“We’re leaving,” Ethan said.  
  
He turned some dials, before pulling the control board apart. The machine started to hiss. Dawn felt the air hum with electricity. Blood seeped from her arm and flowed through the tube to the tank. Ethan grabbed Drusilla’s arm and led her into the portal. In a flash, they were gone.  
  
****  
  
The wheels screeched. Spike jumped off his motorcycle. The front door to the Wolfram and Hart building was smashed. Spike ran inside. He could not believe himself. He had been such a fucking idiot. If Buffy was going on a suicide mission, then his place was by her side. It was where he had always wanted to be. Powers or no, she was his paragon … his guiding star.  
  
He entered the lobby. A group of guards were standing about. Two of them were wounded. There were scorch marks on the floor. The sprinkler system was on. The guards raised their guns at him.  
  
“Vampire,” Spike simply said.  
  
The guards holstered their guns. Spike ran past them. The elevator was closed. It seemed like the entire building was on a security lock down. Spike was in a hurry. He pried the metal doors apart. The elevator was on the top floor. Spike grabbed the cable and started climbing up the shaft. His hands burned. The building had more than 70 floors. When he finally reached the top floor, he entered the elevator through the emergency hatch. Once again, the doors would not open, so he kicked them apart.  
  
“One disgruntled ex-employee coming for his gold watch and some payback!”  
  
****  
  
Buffy ran around the corner. When the guard caught up with her, she shot out her foot and tripped him up. The guard fell onto his stomach. Buffy picked up a plant and smashed the ceramic pot against the guard’s head. This was easier than she had thought. She went back the way she had come and went through the doors at the end of the corridor. There she was.  
  
“Dawn!”  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
Dawn’s voice was weak. Buffy ran to her and pulled the tube from her arm. Dawn’s skin was pale and cold. She had problems keeping eye contact. The chains that bound her kept her from toppling over.  
  
“We need to get out of here, Dawn,” Buffy said.  
  
The building shook. The quake almost made Buffy lose her balance. Dawn’s hair started to rise, as if from static electricity. Powerful electrical vibrations emanated from the machine behind Dawn. Buffy saw a spinning vortex inside a large metal gateway. The sparkling colours were mesmerising. Buffy found herself lost in them for a moment. A familiar sensation washed over her body.  
  
“Get away from the machine,” someone screamed.  
  
Buffy span around. A demon was running towards her. He was carrying … he was carrying her scythe.  
  
“Where did you get that?” Buffy yelled. “That is  _mine!_ ”  
  
“Buffy Summers,” the demon said. “My name is Meph…”  
  
Buffy drew one of the pistols she had picked up from the guards and fired three shots into the demon’s chest. Green blood squirted across the floor. The demon screamed. Buffy kept firing as she walked closer. The demon’s eyes burned with yellow fire. It leapt towards her and slashed at her with the scythe. Buffy dodged the first strike, but the next one pommelled her to the ground. She lost her gun. The demon lifted the scythe. Buffy rolled away, and the axeblade cut into the floor. The demon cursed. Buffy kicked him in the ankle, toppling him over onto his knees.  
  
They both leapt back on their feet. Buffy punched the demon in the face. The impact almost broke her hand, so she hit him instead with her left arm. The demon hit her in the face with the pole and kicked her in the stomach. Buffy fell onto her back. The demon towered above her. This time it was too late to roll away. The scythe came down upon her chest. Buffy’s hands met and caught the blade just above her breasts.  
  
“I told you the scythe was mine,” Buffy said.  
  
She pushed the scythe back at the demon, impaling him upon the sharp pole. Green blood rained down upon her. Buffy rose to her feet and withdrew the scythe from the dead demon’s chest.  
  
****  
  
Spike stood atop the corpses of three guards. He had five bullet wounds in his chest. One bullet had gone through. The other four had buried inside. It hurt like hell. At least he had gotten some dinner from the ordeal. He stomped down the hall. Buffy had to be close. He opened a pair of doors, and there she was. He was back in the room with the portal. Dawn was still there, too.  
  
“Buffy!” he called out.  
  
“Spike?” Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Nice of you to show up.”  
  
Spike ran up to her. “Now you listen here,” he said. “I was the one who brought Dawn back here.” He looked at Dawn. “Tell her!” Dawn looked a little fuddled.  
  
Buffy stared back at him.  
  
“And I rescued your sons, I did,” Spike continued. “Where were you when they were attacked by vampires, eh? Tell me that!”  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened. Spike realised she was looking past him, not at him. He was about to turn, when something grabbed his arm. A monstrous tentacle coiled itself around his wrist and pulled him backwards. Spike fell and his face slammed against the floor. When he looked up, he saw a dozen slithering arms emanating from the portal.  
  
“Octopus,” he screamed. “Infernal octopus! Shut the machine down!”  
  
The tentacles grabbed him and pulled him towards the vortex. Buffy leapt past him and sliced the octopus’s arms with her scythe. The tentacles swung towards her, but Buffy moved like a whirlwind, avoiding their grip. Spike managed to pull himself loose. He ran back to Dawn and tried to break her free from her chains. The metal was too strong. He looked back at the octopus. One of its arm came down like a whip. It missed Spike and coiled itself around the chain. Spike tried to pull the chain free. Eventually, the links broke. Spike and Dawn tumbled backwards.  
  
Buffy came running back and cut the remaining chain with her scythe. Spike threw Dawn across his shoulder and the three of them made for the exit. In the corridor, they were met by a group of zombies. It appeared to be the reanimated corpses of the guards Spike had killed on his way in. One of them wore a flowerpot on its head. Spike and Buffy pushed past them and made their way to the elevator shaft. Halfway down, the building started to shake. Spike thought he could smell brimstone.  
  
When they reached the lobby, they saw that the police had surrounded the building. Spike looked at Buffy.  
  
“How do you want to play this?” he asked.  
  
Before Buffy could answer, an explosion shook the ground. They heard the sound of crumbling steel. The building was coming down above them. There was nothing to do but run for cover. The police had the same idea. A carpet of dust covered the street and large chunks of steel wall and bricks rained down from the sky. Spike and Buffy used the confusion to their advantage and disappeared.  
  
****  
  
“You look like mom,” Dawn said.  
  
She was sitting cross-legged atop the hotel bed eating snacks from the minibar. Her face was still rather pallid, but she looked more awake than she had been since they rescued her.  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. “20 years and  _that’s_ what you say,” she said with a laugh.  
  
“I could say a lot of other things,” Dawn said. “Such as, thanks for forgetting me.” She slurped some soda through a straw. “I’ll save that for later.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “Dawn, I do not understand what happened to you,” she said. “We did not forget you on purpose.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Dawn’s hair. “Now that you are here, we will make sure it never happens again.”  
  
“Just be glad I did not wake up old,” Dawn said. “Then I would be really mad.”  
  
Buffy smiled. “Actually, you are about as old as your nephews.”  
  
“Nephews?” Dawn stopped chewing her chips. “I have nephews? You’re a  _mom?_ You and Spike?”  
  
“No,” Buffy said. “Matt’s the father. Do you remember Matt?”  
  
Dawn creased her brow. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”  
  
Buffy and Dawn talked for a while. It was weird. It felt as though no time has passed. Dawn looked exactly as she had done before she vanished, but it became apparent that she suffered from some mild amnesia. She remembered general things, but she was fuzzy on the particulars.  
  
Once the little fridge was empty, Dawn collapsed upon the bed and drifted into sleep. Buffy watched over her for a while, but she was restless. There was an itch in her body that she could not scratch. Her eyes constantly drifted towards the scythe that stood in the corner. The sounds of the city entered the room from the window. Buffy felt the beat of a bass from a party or a club somewhere. It grew louder. The vibrations entered into her chest. Her breathing fastened. Her palms were sweaty. She could not sit still.  
  
Buffy climbed out the window and down the fire ladder. Spike was standing two platforms below. He was gazing out at a crowd of party-goers that moved through the street below them. It amused Buffy that a glowing vortex to Hell above the ruins of the WRH skyscraper could not distract people from enjoying their Friday night.  
  
“What are you doing?” Buffy asked Spike as she dropped down beside him.  
  
“I am doing the Angel-thing,” Spike said. “Whenever I kill some beasties or some bad folks, I go and have a look at a crowd of people. Each time I hope it will fill me with a sense of satisfaction.” He sighed. “It never does.”  
  
Buffy smiled. He looked so sad. He was trying to hide it, which made him look sadder.  
  
“Thing is,” Spike said, looking away for a moment. “There is only one person whose gratitude I want.”  
  
“Ah!” Buffy caught her laugh. “There it is.”  
  
Spike groaned. “Please, don’t hold it against me,” he said.  
  
“You helped me save my little sister,” Buffy said. “Now you wanna be thanked.”  
  
“Buffy, I am trouble,” he said. “I have been in trouble ever since I woke up in Los Angeles. This soul, it is not enough.”  
  
Buffy looked at her hand. It was shaking. The violence was welling up from her subconscious. All the things she had tried to press down. All the things she had locked inside the little box at the back of her skull. She could see things. It was like visions. She saw things she could do Spike. Moves she could perform to put him off balance. If she stepped left, went right, then kicked him behind knee, she could slash him across the throat with her knife.  
  
She remembered all their fights. All the moves they had performed. She remembered Spike pulling a wooden beam out of the wall at Sunnydale High and hitting her across the face with it. There was nothing he could do that she would not anticipate. They had fought countless times. If they ever fought again, it would be the last time.  
  
His shirt was thorn almost to shreds, exposing the wounded flesh underneath. Bruises, wounds and coagulated blood tainted his perfectly pale complexion. He was just as skinny as he had been. His skin lay tightly round his chiselled abdomen. Buffy felt an urge to destroy him even more … to cover his body in love bites. She wanted to tear at his earlobe with her teeth and listen to his breathing as he fought not to cry out like a girl.  
  
Spike tiled his head and stepped back. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.  
  
“Like what?” Buffy retorted testily.  
  
“Like a damned predator.”  
  
“You’re wounded,” Buffy said. “We predators always go for the weakest prey.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
They exchanged punches. Spike was slow, though he could take a hit. Buffy soon had him cornered against the railings. She leapt upon him and wrapped her legs around his narrow waist. With both hands holding the railing, she pressed her body against his. They kissed. Buffy held on to his lip until she tasted salt.  
  
“Someone is going to see us,” Spike said.  
  
“Not if you are really quiet,” Buffy whispered.  
  
****  
  
“Yaaaaaaargh!”  
  
Spike leapt out of bed and held his head with both hands. Dawn screamed from the other bed. Buffy blinked. Her eyes struggled to see in the darkness. She heard Spike trash about. After searching with her hand, she found the light switch.  
  
“Spike, what on earth is going on?”  
  
Spike did not answer her. He was banging his fists against the wall. It would not be long before someone called reception. Buffy looked over at Dawn. Her sister was hugging the sheets and looking appropriately shocked.  
  
Buffy stepped out of bed and grabbed Spike’s shoulder. He swung around and hit her across the jaw with his elbow. When the next swing came, she ducked. Buffy knew how to predict Spike’s punches when he was angry. He got clumsy. His eyes always advertised where he would strike. It was easy for her to block his blows, but he was strong, and it hurt.  
  
“Calm down, Spike,” she yelled at him. “What on earth is going on?”  
  
“She had no  _right!_ ” he growled back. “That crazy little  _bitch!_ ”  
  
Buffy lost her patience and smacked him across his jaw. “Who?”  
  
“I felt it here,” Spike said, pointing at his heart. “It is gone. She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone…”  
  
Spike collapsed into sobs and incoherent ravings. It was impossible to speak to him.


	14. Istanbul - 2027

### Chapter 13 - Istanbul - 2027

There is nothing quite like watching the sun set over the Bosphorus. The minarets make you believe you are in some kind of fairy tale. Oz stopped playing his guitar for a minute. He just stared at the boats. They drifted so peacefully along the river, as if they were in no hurry to reach their destination. Oz was not in a hurry, either. He had waited years for a day that would likely never come. Time mattered little.  
  
A man threw a coin into his hat. Oz knew enough Turkish to understand that the man thanked him for not playing.  
  
Times had changed. In the nineties, you could make a living busking using only three chords. Today, people wanted more. Oz gathered up his stuff and started walking. As with any other city, there are two sides to Istanbul. There is the sparkling, respectable part that the tourists get to see, and then there is the dirty underbelly. The latter is the most interesting. It is amazing how much history can survive in a place. Empire rise and fall. Kings die. Yet, something always remain. There are people who remember. And there are demons who remember a time before both Istanbul and Constantinople.  
  
Oz took a turn down a narrow alleyway. He pushed himself past drag queens much taller than himself. A junkie clawed at him, begging for a few coins. A woman sold live chickens from a stall. A group of demons performed an unholy Sabbath in the middle of the street. Oz pressed past, trying really hard not to interrupt their ritual. It seemed as if the priest had already eaten the head of their sacrificial chicken.  
  
“There he is,” someone shouted. “The great and powerful!”  
  
Oz smiled up at the green demon greeting him. “I don’t feel great nor powerful, Lorne,” he said.  
  
Lorne put his arm around Oz’s shoulder. “Nonsense,” my friend. “You are a whiz on the guitar, if ever a whiz there was.”  
  
“I think there were a few,” Oz mumbled.  
  
He let Lorne lead him into the bar. It was almost empty. The only people there were a few of the regulars. His band was already getting ready on the stage. Oz climbed up to join them.  
  
Lorne grabbed the microphone. “Give a warm welcome to My Girlfriend Ate the Dingos!”  
  
Nobody clapped, except for a woman who had just entered from outside. She wore a long flowy dress with a low cut front. Her shoulder length hair was bright blue.  
  
The singer took the microphone from Lorne. “This is a song written by Devon MacLeish, the singer from Oz’s high school band.”  
  
The blue haired woman clapped again. The drummer counted off the beat and Oz started playing the riff. The singer grabbed the microphone with both hands. Oz cut off, just as the singer was about to start. The singer opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The drum and bass kept going. Oz gave his band members a questioning look. The singer made another attempt, but was unable to produce a single note. He pointed at his throat.  
  
Oz stepped up to the microphone. “Sorry folks,” he said. “It seems like our singer has had a little too much Rakı and blown his voice.”  
  
The blue haired woman rose from her seat. “I know the song,” she declared.  
  
Oz lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “ _Nobody_ knows the song,” he said. He squinted at her. “Are you from Sunnydale?”  
  
The woman did not answered. She stepped up on the stage and pushed the singer aside. Oz scrutinised her from top to toe. He grabbed her arm.  
  
“I don’t know what kind of a spell you’ve cast,” he said to her, “but don’t for a second think I don’t realise who you are.”  
  
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.  
  
She snapped her fingers and the bass player and drummer started playing. Oz realised they were playing at a much slower speed than they should. They sounded more like Mazzy Star than the Dingos. Oz played the riff to this new beat. His guitar made a distorted sound that reverberated oddly around the room.  
  
The woman swayed back and forth as if hypnotised by the eerie music. Oz’s guitar cut off and the woman began to sing.  
  
_“Feeling I've been lost for years. You can never understand me, unless you've seen those tears, but you never get to…”_  
  
Oz started playing again. His improvised licks danced around and intertwined with the woman’s dreamy voice. He had never played like this before. It was as if he was possessed. Fuck it! He  _was_ possessed and he damn well knew it. Not that he minded much. It felt amazing.  
  
The music stopped. Oz had no idea how long they had played. His fingers were tingling. When he looked up, he saw that the bar was packed with people and demons. Everyone clapped. Someone even got up from their seats and whistled. The mysterious woman gave him a triumphant smirk.  
  
Lorne pulled Oz aside. “Be careful around her, Danny,” he said. “I read some strange things from her song.”  
  
Oz shrugged. “I figured you would,” he said.  
  
“Perhaps you should stay away from her,” Lorne warned.  
  
“What’s the worst that can happen? Lycanthropy? Demon snakes?”  
  
Oz walked away from Lorne and climbed down off the stage. The woman had returned to her seat. A levitating teapot filled her cup, while a dancing spoon stirred the leaves. The woman raised her hand in welcome, and a stool jumped out from the table for Oz to sit upon.  
  
“No games,” Oz pleaded as he sat down. “Let me see you”  
  
The woman pulled her hand over her face. It was as if a veil was lifted. To Oz, it was a revelation. Willow was older, but she was still beautiful. Her eyes were still cute and sparkly. She still broke into wry smiles when he looked at her.  
  
“So…” Oz took a deep breath. “What have you been up to?”  
  
Willow made an awkward face. “Mostly witchy stuff,” she said. “How about you?”  
  
Oz scratched the back of his head. “Guitar, travel, Buddhism…”  
  
They sat silently together for a while. Oz did not know quite what to say. He was not sure if he still knew the person before him. She was not the teenager he had dated in high school. Still, her mannerisms were the same. She still struggled to meet his eyes.  
  
“You came here for a reason,” Oz said eventually. “I want to pretend that you came here for me, but you didn’t…” He sighed. “… did you?”  
  
Willow looked guilty. “I am in a bit of a rut,” she said. “I came to see if you were, too.”  
  
“I guess you could say that.”  
  
“Cool!” Willow smiled. “I mean … not that I don’t want you to be happy. It is just that … now we can be rutted together.”  
  
They fell silent again. Neither of them wanted to spoil the moment by saying the wrong thing. Everything seemed fragile. This reunion could not be had again. Old friends only get one chance to reconnect.  
  
“I haven’t …  _changed_ in a long time,” Oz said.  
  
The comment made Willow look worried. “You will,” she said. “Soon … probably.”  
  
Oz laughed nervously. “What do you mean?”  
  
“The world hasn’t been  _right_ lately,” Willow said. “I have been trying to put it back together. It worked … or something worked. The world is becoming like it was, which means … you will start feeling wolfy again.”  
  
Oz looked down at his hand. His arm was no more hairy than usual. He caressed the beads on his wristband with his fingers.  
  
“I was able to fight it off before,” he said. “I can do it again … when it comes to it.”  
  
“Good.” Willow smiled at him. “You are always so reasonable.” She seemed a little drunk. “Though, Veruca may have had a point,” she said and bit her lip. “Is it all right to call her a bitch, when it is almost literally true?”  
  
Oz raised an eyebrow. “Right about what?”  
  
“About authenticity,” Willow said. “We are constantly forced to deny ourselves … but … we cannot  _always_ do that. We cannot always be less than we are meant to be.”  
  
“I don’t follow.”  
  
Willow took his hand in her own. “Maybe the best way to deal with your inner beast is not to supress it,” she said, “but to master it.”  
  
Oz felt his entire body tense up. He looked down at his and Willow’s hands. Her fingers were so tiny and so soft.  
  
“How do I do that?” he asked.  
  
“You must learn that for yourself,” Willow said. “No monks can teach you.” She pressed his hand tighter. “And nobody can teach me…” Her pupils dilated and sparkled oddly. “… what it means to be a witch.”  
  
“I knew it,” Oz said. “You have a plan.”  
  
“Just a little one,” Willow said. “Don’t you think the world is run by the wrong people? Heartless oligarchs rape and violate nature. They squeeze out every resource and leave the rest to rot. The rich exploit the poor…”  
  
Oz laughed. “You sound like your mother.”  
  
Willow’s eyes looked like two dark pools of unfathomable depth. “My mother wrote her pieces from behind a desk,” Willow said. “I aim to step out into the world. And I want my wolfy friend with me.”  
  
“Yes…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Oz put his free hand upon his and Willow’s. “Whatever you say, I am with you,” he declared. “I have no life here. If you want help with your project for world dominance, I am your wolf.”  
  
“Not world dominance,” Willow laughed. “We’ll just  _shake_ things up a little.” She squeezed Oz’s hand even tighter. “Thank you,” she whispered. A tear made its way down her left cheek. “You’re the only one left. If you leave me, I’m broken.”  
  
“That will never happen,” Oz said. “Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life.”  
  
“Did you believe me, when I said we would meet here again one day?” Willow asked.  
  
Oz shook his head. “No,” he said. “When I saw you with that girl, I knew I had lost you.” He took a moment to push back the tears. “I cannot imagine what it was like for you to lose her.”  
  
Another pair of tears made their way down Willow’s pale face. “You were too good to be my second,” she sobbed.  
  
Oz smiled. “I was proud to be on the list at all,” he said.  
  
Their conversation flowed more freely after that. Lorne brought them drinks to lubricate their tongues. Oz enjoyed the grimaces Willow made when she tried the stronger drinks. He was falling in love with her again or maybe the love he had tried to supress his entire life was coming back. Whatever it was, he was happy … happy and terrified. He could not lose her again.  
  
Later, they were on the streets again. Willow was leading him back to her hotel. They were going to sit up and talk more, but Willow’s eyes promised more. Oz worried he might be too drunk. He needed to get some coffee and lots of water once they got to the hotel. Willow danced barefoot before him on the cobblestone, beckoning him to catch up with her. Oz ran after her, but his lack of balance made him run sideways. She giggled. He laughed.  
  
It happened when they were outside the room. Willow struggled with the key card. She could not fit the rectangular plastic inside the narrow slit. Oz stood behind her. He could not help himself. He brushed Willow’s hair away from her shoulder. She startled and turned. Their lips met. It was one of those kisses where the noses are really close to each other. There were no exchange of tongues. They just played with each other’s lips. Paused. Felt each other’s breath. Oz put his arms around Willow. Her dress was so thin. She had filled out and softened in places.  
  
Then they were inside. Oz sat down upon the bed. The room was spinning. He hoped he could sober up, before he fell asleep. Willow retreated to the bathroom with the promise of a quick return.  
  
Oz looked around the room. It was oddly empty. There were no bags or suitcases. Not even a purse. He looked around for a water boiler, hoping to make some coffee. There was none to be had. He sighed. He stepped over to the balcony doors and opened them. The moon was out. It looked to be almost full. He had not cared to follow the cycles in years. What was it Willow had said? Master the beast? He looked at his arm. The hairs stood on edge, probably because they had walked home through the cold night. The silver light was inviting. Suddenly, he did not feel so drunk anymore. He stepped across the threshold and breathed in the night air.  _Master the beast,_ he thought.  
  
“… or the beast will come for you!”  
  
****  
  
Willow gurgled, then she spat into the sink. Her reflection stared accusingly back at her.  _You’re doing something wrong,_  it told her.  _No, I am not,_ she told it back. How could it be wrong? Tara had been dead for over two decades. She had been with other people since them.  _Other women,_  the reflection reminded her. Willow frowned.  _What does that matter?_  
  
The mirror changed. It presented her an image of herself as a young girl … or … blossoming woman. It was Christmas, which should not matter to the daughter of Ira Rosenberg, even though it did. Her parents were away. She had dressed herself up in a tight red dress, like a stocking dangling from the fireplace. She remembered how long she had spent scrubbing every part of herself clean. He had to love her. It had to be perfect. Should she put on her parents’ Barry White CD? She shouldn’t, but she did. How terrified she had been. How different. How similar. She hated being old. Nothing had changed. She was still the same.  
  
Her reflection crossed its arms and stared her down.  _Whatever you’re going to do, you can’t hide in the bathroom forever._  
  
“I know that, mirror-witch.”  
  
Willow took a deep breath and opened the door. A cold draft blew into her face. The lights in the room was dimmed. She stepped into the darkness. Oz was out on the balcony. Willow saw his silhouette set against the full moon.  
  
“Oz?”  
  
Willow walked towards him. Something made her uneasy. His stance was odd. Then she gasped. Skinny arms sprung out from Oz’s dark shape. A woman rose behind him and towered over him. Her hands gripped his neck. Willow came closer. The woman’s long hair cascaded down and covered Oz’s face. She was …  
  
Oz dropped onto his knees, before tumbling over on his side. The woman stepped back so that the moon could illuminate her face. It was Drusilla. With a bloodied grin, she licked her fingers.  
  
Willow collapsed in front of Oz’s limp body. She shook him. She called for him. He mumbled something, but then his eyes fell backwards, and he drifted away. Willow put her hand on his chest and siphoned her lifeforce into his slowing heart. It was no use. He had lost too much blood. The energy she gifted to him leaked out and vanished. It left her drained and tired.  
  
“First blood,” Drusilla said. “The Slayer cannot ignore this.” She put a cold hand on Willow’s shoulder. “Losing her pet witch. She will be so mad.”  
  
“Slayer..?” Willow looked up at Drusilla. She felt numb. Her heart was beating rapidly. There was a stormy sea of despair and anger inside her, but she could not feel it. She felt empty and hollow. Her emotions were too much too contain. She needed to disassociate herself from them. She had to let them out … set them lose. “The Slayer is the least of your worries.”  
  
Willow let out an eldritch shriek, causing a shockwave to echo between the walls. Every single piece of glass in the room, including the doors of the balcony, shattered into myriads of sharp little pieces. A wind blew Drusilla across the railing and sent her flying towards the street below.  
  
Willow pulled herself up. She stumbled to the edge of the balcony. Drusilla lay on the ground below. Willow leapt down to her, calling upon the winds to safely slow her descent.  
  
“Were you never afraid you would go too far?” Willow asked the vampire in a dispassionate voice.  
  
“Be careful, little sister,” Drusilla whispered. “You have stepped outside the threshold now.”  
  
“Do not worry,” Willow said. “This is  _not_ my first time.” She grabbed Drusilla by the throat.  
  
“Do you think we fear your wrath, little girl?” Drusilla giggled. “Look into our eyes. What do you see?”  
  
Willow smiled. “They say that when vampires die, their souls can finally go to Heaven.”  
  
Drusilla grinned. “We don’t have a soul.”  
  
“No, your soul is floating safely around in the ether.” Willow opened her hand. A shiny orb appeared in her palm. “What happens if we put the soul back in? Will Heaven accept a tainted soul?”  
  
Drusilla stared into the flickering lights. “Is that? Is that me?” A smile formed on her lips. It was not an ugly smile. It was childlike and curious.  
  
Willow held it up before her. “That is the little East End girl that Angel killed.”  
  
Drusilla reached for it with fumbling hands. Her eyes looked mesmerised. Willow made a wry smile. “Let’s see what happens,” she said and pushed the orb into Drusilla’s chest.  
  
The vampire toppled over into the dust. Willow looked down at her. It seemed the initial confusion had set in. She would remember soon.  
  
Drusilla looked from left to right. Her smile was gone. “Where am I?” she asked. “Where … where is everybody?” She crawled around on her hands and knees. “I don’t remember…”  
  
“Look at your hands,” Willow said and grabbed Drusilla’s wrist. “ _Look_ at your hands.”  
  
Drusilla screamed at the sight of Oz’s fresh blood. “Oh God.” She held her hands up to the sky. “Oh God, deliver me…”  
  
“God is not here,” Willow told her. “Do you think he would come for you someone like you? Your soul and body bathed in blood?”  
  
“Make it stop,” Drusilla begged. “Oh, God, make it stop!”  
  
“It will stop,” Willow told her. “When the sun comes up, it will burn the flesh from your bones. You will be taken took a better place. Not a  _good_ place, mind. Just a better one. Because Hell hath no fury like mine,  _sister_.”  
  
Willow turned away. She had done what she had needed to do. There was no way she could have let Drusilla escape. What was left now? She was all alone in this strange city. Drusilla’s confused screams and ravings filled her ears. It was distracting. She needed to get away. Her mind raced. Where could she go? What if Oz was still alive? Perhaps she could still save him.  
  
Willow stumbled into the hotel lobby. The receptionist looked in horror at the blood on her clothes, but she did not say anything. Willow walked up the stairs to her room. Her feet felt heavy. It took all her strength to drag them up each step.  When she came to her door, she realised she did not have her key card.  
  
The janitor had left his toolbox on the floor. Willow went over and picked up the hammer, then she went back and swung it at the door. The door was hollow. She had no problem breaking apart the area around the lock, but she cut her wrist on the splinters. It did not matter to her. Physical pain was a mercy.  
  
The room was still dark. She saw the outline of Oz’s body upon the balcony threshold. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to see the pool of blood underneath him. The pool grew. It seemed as if it was going to flood the entire room. Willow huddled down in the opposite corner. Her cries turned to screams. The building shook.  
  
****  
  
“Report.”  
  
“The Istanbul police found a woman and a dead body inside a hotel room. The woman rented the room, but she appeared to have broken through the door with a hammer. The dead man’s throat had been ripped open by animal-like fangs.”  
  
“Vampire?”  
  
“Undoubtedly.”  
  
“Who is the woman?”  
  
“Appears to be in her forties. Caucasian. Jet black hair. Her eyes are weirdly dilated. She had no papers of identification and the Istanbul police have been unable to make her speak. We have a picture of her here.”  
  
“That is Willow Rosenberg.”  
  
“Dangerous?”  
  
“Potentially. We should secure her immediately.”  
  
“The Turkish government may refuse to release her.”  
  
“Asking would take too much time. Send a team over to retrieve her. Casualties will be permissible and probably necessary.”


	15. The Plan

  


### Chapter 14 - The Plan

“I can’t breathe, Buffy.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” Buffy said. You’re a vampire.”  
  
Spike crawled over to Buffy and hugged her waist. Buffy carefully patted his head.  
  
“She’s dead,” Spike repeated for the nth time.  
  
“Who, Spike?” Buffy groaned. She was losing her patience. “Who do you think is dead?”  
  
“Drusilla,” Spike said.  
  
Perhaps she should have known, but the name hit Buffy hard. This was an unexpected turn of events. Had Faith slain her? Did this mean that it was all over? That Bobby and William … and Connor … were safe?  
  
Buffy squatted down in front of Spike. “It had to be done,” she said.  
  
Spike shook his head. “Not like this,” he said.  
  
“Not like  _what?”  
  
_ “Her soul is in Hell,” Spike roared.  
  
“I see…” Buffy tried to look sympathetic. “Drusilla did not chose to be what she was, Spike. It is not fair.”  
  
“It did not have to happen,” Spike sneered. “The witch made it happen. She put the spark back in just so Dru would suffer.”  
  
Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Willow? Willow killed Dru? How?”  
  
“She put the spark in her…” Spike scratched at his chest. “… and left her out for the sunrise.”  
  
“How do you know all this?”  
  
Spike glared dangerously at her. “Blood knows,” he growled.  
  
****  
  
Ethan knew. He took out his phylactery of Drusilla’s blood, uncorked it, smelled it and he was certain. Drusilla was dead. It was mostly a relief. She was an unreliable ally at best. He had worried she would one day grow bored of him and rip his throat open. It did not matter. The plan was almost complete. The hellmouths were all open. Now he only needed was to destabilize the military initiative. Those bastards had kept him locked underground for years. Now it was time for payback.  
  
Buffy had managed to save her sister. That was a surprise, but completely inconsequential to his interests. A giant vortex floated above the remains of the ruined Wolfram and Hart skyscraper, spewing magic into the world. He already felt stronger. With Dawn still alive, he could use her blood again. There was no limit to have powerful he could make himself.  
  
Ethan walked down the street and saw a town bustling with activity. Zombies rose from the grave and devoured the brains of the living. Vampires lead their victims out from clubs and into unlit alleyways. Ghosts possessed the bodies of wives and made them kill their husbands as revenge for crimes committed by people long dead. Everything was as it should be. This is what the military initiative wanted to destroy. Ethan could not let that happen. It was too much fun for him to watch.  
  
****  
  
“Put your hand on the table, Kenneth.”  
  
The boy reluctantly obliged.  
  
“Stretch your fingers out,” Faith instructed.  
  
“I am not so sure about this…”  
  
“Quiet!” Faith felt the sharp steel with her lips. Andrew had sharpened all the kitchen knives. They could cut an apple in half mid-air. “If you move, you bleed.”  
  
Faith locked eyes with the kid. She gave him the dangerous smile – the hyena smile. Then, without looking at his hand, she stabbed the table plate, right between his outstretched fingers. Kenneth shut his eyes. Faith leaned closer to him, feeling his breath.  
  
“Hey, kid,” she snapped. “We look our fear in the eye.”  
  
Kenneth slowly opened his eyes again. Faith grabbed his wrist with her free hand to make sure he would not move, before letting the knife dance between his fingers. The boy shook each time the knife cut into the table. Faith leant closer and closer to him. She positioned herself so that she obstructed the boy’s view of the knife. Slowly, his breath grew steadier. Faith figured he had proved himself. She dropped the knife and put her hand on the boy’s crotch.  
  
“It is so nice to have an appreciate student,” she teased.  
  
“Are you just about finished?” Andrew stood in the doorway, frowning, with his arms crossed. “You are ruining the table and the knives.”  
  
Faith put her boots up on the table and leaned back against Kenneth. Wet mud dripped from her soles onto the newly ironed tablecloth.  
  
 “We are not moving in, Ange,” she grumbled. “This is a temporary hideout.”  
  
Andrew rolled his eyes. “We could end up being here a while,” he argued. “Why not try to make it nice?”  
  
“We are not staying long,” Faith insisted. “I am already getting antsy.” She pulled Kenneth’s arms around herself like a pair of seatbelts. “Soon I’ll start boning the kid, just to kill the boredom.”  
  
Something had changed. Over the past few days, Faith had started to feel restless. Last night she had dreamt of vampires … big ones with scared faces. When she awoke, she was sweating so much that the sheets stuck to her skin. After getting up, she found it hard to sit still. Her fingers constantly fidgeted.  
  
There was a knock on the door. Faith gasped in surprise and went for the knife.  
  
“Relax, Rocky,” Andrew groaned. “It is Xander. I saw him from the window.”  
  
Xander came in in through the door. Behind him followed Connor.  
  
“There is the wunderkind,” Faith yelled and pushed Kenneth’s arms away. She ran over to Connor and gave him a hug.  
  
“Nice to see you, too, Faith,” Connor said, as he awkwardly tried to free himself from Faith’s clingy embrace.  
  
“You ready to kill some soldiers, kiddo?” Faith asked.  
  
Connor was no longer a kid. In fact, Faith would not be vain to claim he looked older than she did. Still, Faith found it necessary to establish that they were not peers. Connor was Angel’s son, hence, he was still a kid and should agree to let Faith boss him around.  
  
“I just want to get my father,” Connor mumbled.  
  
“Aaaw, come on!” Faith gave Connor some playful punches to the stomach that made him lose his breath. “Didn’t we have fun at the restaurant? We kicked those vamps good.”  
  
“We are not going up against vampires, Faith,” Xander said. “We are dealing with human beings. In fact, trained soldiers in a highly secured facility.”  
  
Faith grabbed Connor’s arm and lead him inside. “Shush, Xander,” she said. “The super heroes need to talk.”  
  
****  
  
Spike’s arms embraced Buffy’s naked body from behind. His hands quickly found their way to her breasts. She let him fondle them for a while, but once she got bored, she took his wrist and guided his hand up to her neck. That was where her pleasure spots were. She loved to feel his fingertips caress her sensitive skin. His cold breath brushed against her ear as she leant into him. He was inside her. She sat in his lap, pushing herself against him, wanting him to fill her up as much as possible.  
  
The mirror on the opposite wall offered Buffy a full figure view of herself. It made her extremely self-conscious, though Spike seemed to be enjoying himself. He glared wantonly back at her via the glass.  
  
“My ear…” Buffy whispered.  
  
Soon, she felt Spike’s lips softly tug at her lobe. His touches made her shiver. The warmer her body became, the colder he to her felt by comparison. The simplest brush of his icy fingers made her tremble. It was exquisite agony.  
  
Spike’s hand fell from Buffy’s breast and moved down her stomach. She felt his palm stroke her pubic hair and his fingers part her labia to access the wet and tender spots inside. It was impossible for her to give him direction. There was no air left for speech. She needed what she had to keep herself from fainting, meaning he was doing well on his own.  
  
Buffy’s thighs trembled. A surge of joy passed through her body. It left her peaceful but panting. She leaned back into Spike’s embrace. Her sweaty skin felt cold against Spike’s bloodless body.  
  
“We should get in the shower before Dawn comes back,” Buffy whisperd.  
  
“You can get off any time you want,” Spike mumbled behind her. “This toilet seat is not exactly comfortable.”  
  
“I just need to test my legs before I stand up,” Buffy said. She took Spike’s hand in her own and kissed it. “It is good to be back with you.” There was no answer.  
  
Five minutes later, a freshly showered Buffy were running her fingers through Spike’s hair, trying to make his rebellious curls stay down. Spike was unable to help her, as he was waiting for his freshly painted nails to dry.  
  
“How old do you think Dawn is?” Spike asked out of the blue.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean,” Spike said, “she looks like she did just before we forgot her.”  
  
“I don’t know, Spike.”  
  
Spike turned and looked at her. “How do we keep her from going away again?”  
  
Buffy sighed. “I have no idea. If that blue vortex in the sky is what keeps her here, then that is a problem.”  
  
There was a knock on the door.  
  
“It must be Dawn,” Buffy said and went over to open.  
  
It was not. It was Ethan Rayne. It had been a while since Buffy had made a man’s nose explode. Trying to kill her sister in a magic ritual seemed adequate cause, so Buffy thrust her fist into his face.  
  
A couple of minutes later, Ethan was sitting on the floor, pressing a wad of bloodied tissues against his broken nose. Spike circled around him, holding a smoothing iron in his hand and looking like he wanted nothing more than to bash Ethan’s brains in with it.  
  
“How dare you show up here?” Buffy asked the injured sorcerer.  
  
“I came to help you save Angel,” was the nasal response.  
  
“Why would we wanna save that wanker?” Spike snorted.  
  
“His captors will be coming for you next,” Ethan said. “They aim to close the hellmouths, and if they managed that…”  He grinned up at Buffy. “…your sister vanishes back into the void.”  
  
Spike smacked the back of his head. “You were gonna kill her, you were!”  
  
“Desperate situations calls for drastic measures,” Ethan mumbled. “Her blood was the easiest way to create a new hellmouth. Those demon lawyers weren’t just going to let her go after they had bled her dry.”  
  
“The lawyers are all dead now,” Buffy said.  
  
“And good riddance,” Ethan said. “They were only a means to an end.”  
  
“And Dru?” Spike asked. “What was she?”  
  
“A willing partner.” Ethan held his hands up defensively. “I certainly had no hand in her death.”  
  
“… and you expect us to believe that?” Spike growled.  
  
“Calm down, Spike,” Buffy said. “We may need his help.”  
  
The door opened again. Dawn came in. Seeing Ethan’s bloodied grin made her drop her grocery bags.  
  
“What the hell is  _he_ doing here?” she shrieked.  
  
“Ask your sister,” Spike growled.  
  
Dawn gave Buffy an incredulous look.  
  
“He brought you back,” Buffy said apologetically. “He claims he knows how to keep you from vanishing again.”  
  
“I do,” Ethan said with a smile.  
  
Spike smacked him over the head with the iron.  
  
“Listen to me,” Ethan said. “We need to rendezvous with your friends, save Angel and stop the military initiative. Otherwise, magic will vanish again, little Dawn goes puff, big sister loses her strength, vampires grow weak and the whole world slowly dies. End of story.”  
  
“Why do we need him?” Dawn asked. “Couldn’t we ask Willow?”  
  
Buffy sighed. “I don’t know where Willow is, Dawn.”  
  
“You need me,” Ethan said, “because I have been imprisoned in the same military installation Angel is in now. I know how to get him out.”  
  
Buffy looked at Spike. “What do you think?”  
  
Spike shrugged. “I need to hit something,” he said. “Soldier boys are as good as anything. If it will save the little bit, then it is worth it. Not like we have a better plan.”  
  
The decision was made. Buffy, Dawn and Spike checked out of the hotel and brought Ethan with them as their captive. They gathered up in Matt’s car. Ethan was tied up and put in the trunk. Then they drove off in search of Xander and Faith.  
  
The sun was up, so Spike had to hide himself underneath a blanket. He was tired and needed to rest. For the last couple of days, he had been more antsy than usual. It was not unexpected. Seeing Buffy again was a big deal and feeling the death of Drusilla had been terrible. After tossing back and forth for three hours, he finally fell asleep. Someone grabbed hold of his ears and pulled him into the dreamscape.  
  
“Oi, Spoike,” someone whispered.  
  
“Drusilla?” Spike fumbled in the darkness, trying to find her.  
  
A draft blew against his back. “Did you lose me, Spike?”  
  
Spike spun around. “You died,” he called.  
  
A finger tapped him on the shoulder. “Honouring my memory are you, Spoike?”  
  
“How are you here?” Spike asked as he grabbed into the empty air.  
  
“I am always here,” the wind whispered into his ear. “I gave you my blood, Spokie, because you were the shiniest man I had seen. I wanted the world to see you shine. I wanted the world to scream as you crushed their eyeballs into their little sockets.”  
  
“I am sorry.”  
  
“Blah! Blah! Blah!” Leaves rattled nearby. “Spoike does not like his leash. Found his own pet, he has.”  
  
Spike made a leap towards the noise. “What do you want?”  
  
Skinny fingers wrapped themselves around his neck in a tight grip. “You must pass it on, little Spoik. Pass on my blood so I can live.”  
  
The darkness vanished. Spike started up into Dawn’s face.  
  
“Sun’s down. Time to wake up, sleepyhead,” she said.  
  
“Give me my blanked back,” Spike grumbled.  
  
“No way,” Dawn laughed. “Do you want a chocolate pop?”  
  
“Chocolate pops are for little girls,” Spike grumbled.  
  
“Suit yourself.”  
  
Spike snapped one from her hand. “Well, if that is all you have I still want one.”  
  
“I want a chocolate pop,” Ethan called from the trunk.  
  
“Shut up,” was the unison answer.  
  
Buffy had driven for hours. She was not tired. In fact, she felt more awake than ever. They had recently passed the Sunnydale crater. It was as if the familiar air rejuvenated her. She did not know where Faith and Andrew were. Ethan had summoned a pixie that flew ahead of the car and lead the way. It was not quite as good as a GPS, but its seemed to know where it was going.  
  
A couple hours later, they pulled up beside a small cottage. Buffy exited the car. She was immediately greeted by gang of Andrew’s rangers who stood guard outside.  
  
“Who are these freaks?” Spike asked.  
  
“They are Andrew’s little army,” Buffy said.  
  
Faith stood leaning against the doorframe. “So,” she said. “She’s back.”  
  
Buffy pulled the scythe from the car. “In more ways than one,” she said.  
  
Faith’s eyes widened. “Gimme,” she demanded.  
  
“No way,” Buffy scoffed. “I am still the OG.”  
  
“The hell you are, you soccer mum,” Faith said.  
  
Faith ran toward her and reached for the scythe. Buffy had the advantage. Faith did not know she had regained her powers. Buffy pretend to back away, before giving Faith a kick in the ankle that sent the younger slayer straight onto her back. The wooden pommel on the scythe kept her from getting back up.  
  
“The scythe found its way to me  _twice,_ ” Buffy said. “I am not handing it over.”  
  
“Hey…” Faith grinned. “B is back in the game.”  
  
Everybody gathered inside the cottage. Andrew had just made one of his famous soup recipes and there was just enough for the newcomers, seeing that one was a vampire and Ethan did not get any. The sorcerer was tied up in a chair and sat in the corner.  
  
“It is good to have you back, Buff,” Xander said.  
  
“It is good to be back,” Buffy said and tried to smile.  
  
“Do you know where Willow is?” Xander asked.  
  
Buffy looked cautiously over at Spike, who gave her an angry look in return. Buffy elbowed him in the side.  
  
“No,” Buffy said, “but I am concerned for her. We should find out what happened to her, once we are done here.”  
  
Connor had been stealing glimpses at Buffy ever since he was introduced to her. Buffy realised he probably had lots of questions.  
  
"You knew my father well?” Connor eventually asked.  
  
“A long time ago,” Spike interjected.  
  
Buffy smiled awkwardly. “We were high school sweethearts,” she said. “I mean, I was a high school sweetheart and he was a vampire.”  
  
After the meal, they started discussing how to infiltrate the military compound. It turned out that Andrew and his group had so far had little luck in scouting for possible entry points. Ethan, on the other hand, surprised everyone with his detailed knowledge. His plan was complicated. It involved sending everyone inside in smaller teams. Some teams would work as distractions. Others would sabotage the alarms systems. It sounded a lot like Ocean's Eleven.  
  
“Spike and I will go in first,” Ethan declared. “Tonight.”  
  
“What? No way,” Buffy protested. “Why do you need Spike?”  
  
“A vampire is perfect for fooling the infrared alarm systems,” Ethan explained.  
  
“I will go with him,” Spike said. “It means I can kill him once he is no longer useful.”  
  
Ethan laughed nervously. “Very funny.”  
  
Faith got up from her seat and tapped Buffy on the shoulder. Buffy took it as a cue to follow Faith outside.  
  
“What?” Buffy asked, once they were out of earshot.  
  
“Well, I don’t trust him, B,” Faith said. “We need to get control.”  
  
“Ethan?” Buffy raised an eyebrow. “He is a lying scumbag. Of course we should not trust him.”  
  
“Then why are we following  _his_ plan?” Faith asked.  
  
“Because  _his_ plan is the  _only_ plan we’ve got,” Buffy answered. “He seems to know what he is talking about and he hates the military.”  
  
****  
  
An hour later, Spike and Ethan stood together atop a hill overlooking the underground prison. Ethan was busy drawing a pentagram in the sand. Rage was building inside Spike. He wanted nothing more than to tear the sorcerer’s head off. The wind whirled up the sand around them. It was blowing from the Sunnydale crater. Spike though he heard a voice on the breeze.  _Do as he says. Do it for mommy._ Spike knew he was in trouble. This was not going to end well.


	16. Boiling Point

  


### Chapter 15 - Boiling Point

“I am not doing it,” Spike said. “No way.” He pointed at Ethan. “You are mad as a hatter, you are.”  
  
Ethan smiled. “You have no choice,” he said.  
  
“It would go against the mission,” Spike said.  
  
“You mean, Buffy would not like it.”  
  
“Buffy  _is_ my mission.”  
  
Ethan sighed. “This is not a battle between good and evil,” he said. “It is a battle for survival. The right for me, you, little Dawn and your slayer to exist.” He turned and looked at the barracks. “These soldier boys,” he said, “cannot bear the fact that there is someone who is  _better_ than them.”  
  
Spike glared at him. “How is this going to help?”  
  
“We need the best,” Ethan told him.  
  
“We got the best,” Spike said. “We have Buffy.”  
  
“This army, it is an inquisition,” Ethan said. “Buffy cannot fight that. We are fighting an ideological war that will require us to spill human blood. Lots of it.”  
  
“I am not doing it,” Spike insisted.  
  
“It was supposed to be Drusilla’s job,” Ethan said. “Finishing her work would be a way for you to honour her memory.”  
  
Spike grabbed Ethan’s by the throat and flung against the wall. “Don’t speak about, Dru,” he said.  
  
Ethan laughed. “You don’t know Drusilla,” he said. “You have no idea about the indignities she suffered at the hands of these people.  
  
****  
  
“How long am I going to be here?” Angel asked.  
  
“Until the crisis passes,” Riley Finn answered.  
  
They were standing inside Angel’s tiny cell. Riley looked down at the former vampire with pity. He did not like this, but there was nothing he could do. The scientists wanted to kill Angel, so they could autopsy his body. So far, Riley had been able to stop them. He did not know how long it would take before they convinced his superiors to override him.  
  
“I have been living a peaceful life ever since I became human,” Angel said.  
  
“I know,” Riley said and crossed his arms. “Before that, you tore down Downtown LA. Magic is back. We cannot afford having you run lose at this point. We need to control the situation first.”  
  
Riley left the cell. His head was filled with thoughts. Something big was coming. The vampire attacks were increasing, but Riley knew this was just the beginning of something bigger.  
  
“Can I have a word with you, Major Finn?”  
  
Riley turned around. A young officer stood behind him. He seemed nervous.  
  
“What is it?” Riley asked.  
  
“Can we talk in your office?” the junior officer asked. “It is a sensitive matter.”  
  
Riley sighed. He was too tried to care, but he let the young man follow him to his office. Once they were there, the young man started telling him about a woman named Marcie Ross. Marcie was a black ops operative who had previously possessed the power of invisibility. She had lost her powers when the hellmouths closed but had remained in service. Riley listened to this hogwash with a minimum of attention. Apparently, Marcie had gone off the raider. The officer was worried she was planning some form of revenge against the US government, possibly in collusion with escaped prisoner Ethan Rayne. The man had no proper evidence for this suspicion. Riley was about to ask him to get the hell out of his office, when the lights suddenly went out.  
  
Riley stormed into the corridor. The emergency lights came on almost immediately, but it was hard to see in the dim red light. It was like being in a dark room. A group of soldiers approached him.  
  
“We need to secure the prison cells,” Riley told them. “Someone might be trying to break out Hostile 1.”  
  
“Hostile 1 is not in his cell,” the soldiers informed him. “He has been moved to the morgue.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He was found dead. The doctors tried to revive him, but he was long gone. He is awaiting autopsy.”  
  
Riley sighed. “Gather a team,” he ordered. “We may be contaminated. We need to secure the morgue before it is too late.”  
  
****  
  
Faith pulled Kenneth up to the top of the wall. It had been an hour since the compound went dark. Very few soldiers had been placed outside the building. It would be easy to sneak past them in the darkness.  
  
Faith and Kenneth dropped silently down on the other side. They waited for a guard patrol to pass, before running towards a small building. The door was locked.  
  
“Damn it,” Faith said. “The wizard said it would be open.”  
  
Just as she said those words, the automatic doors swung ajar. Faith and Kenneth snuck inside. The emergency generator rumbled loudly. Kenneth went over to the control board and switched it off. Everything went silent.  
  
“That was easy,” Faith said and smiled over at Kenneth.  
  
It was as if she experienced it in slow motion. A bullet came flying from the open door. It cracked through the boy’s cranium and exploded his brain from the inside. Blood flew everywhere. Faith screamed. Her rage overpowered her. She turned to face the killer. Her knuckles were already white from clenching her fists. They would bludgeon the attacker to death. She ran towards him, but before she got there, she felt another bullet crack her ribs and enter her chest. The pain was excruciating. When she reached her target, she had just enough strength to wring the life out of the soldier boy, before collapsing atop his corpse.  
  
****  
  
Connor was already inside the compound. He had managed to make his way without running into any soldiers. Now he knew why. The floor was littered with corpses. He could see their mangled bodies in the flickering emergency lights.  _What beast could have done this?_ he wondered.  _This is inhuman._ It had been years since he had seen the destruction a demon could wreak. It felt like a different life.  
  
A man stood alone amongst the carnage. It was his father. In the dim light, he looked younger than he had been in years.  
  
“Hello, son,” Angel said.  
  
Connor ran up and hugged him. “Who did this?” he asked.  
  
“A very bad man,” Angel said.  
  
Connor was about to pull back from the embrace, but his father held him fast. He felt two sharp pins penetrate his skin. Blood poured out. He felt his father’s lips on his neck. When he realised what was happening, it was already too late. His mind slowly slipped out of consciousness as his lifeblood ebbed from his veins.  
  
“Welcome to the family business, son,” Angel laughed.  
  
****  
  
Faith lay bleeding on the floor. She heard gunshots and screaming in the distance. Something had gone terribly wrong. The sound of footsteps behind her made her gasp.  
  
“Hello, Faith.”  
  
It was Angel. He made no attempt to hide what had happened to him. Blood dripped down his chin. He had fed so much, he did not care about making a mess.  
  
“Angel…”  
  
Faith clutched her bleeding chest. Angel gave her a hungry look.  
  
“You seem to be in a bit of a pickle,” Angel grinned. “Need any blood. I have plenty.”  
  
He held up his arm. His veins was thorn open and bleeding.  
  
“We came to rescue you,” Faith said. Her words were weak.  
  
“And so you did,” Angel said. “Want me to repay the favour?”  
  
“Hello, lover.”  
  
Buffy appeared out of nowhere. She leapt into the air, spun around and delivered a kick that sent Angel flying across the room.  
  
“Buffy, don’t kill him,” Faith begged.  
  
“Sorry, Faith.” Buffy raised the scythe “This needs to stop.”  
  
Angel laughed. “Is that so, Buff? You are teaming up with the soldier boys?”  
  
“No, I am stopping  _you,_ ” Buffy said, as she came towards him.  
  
“Are you not curious who sired me?” Angel asked.  
  
Buffy hesitated.  
  
“Will you kill Spike, too, when you are done with me?”  
  
“Shut up,” Buffy said through gritted teeth.  
  
“Dawn and Willow – Will you let the soldiers kill them?” Angel licked his lips. “Or will you do it yourself?” He laughed. “I am the greatest killer of men the world has seen. I am the only one who can stop this modern inquisition.”  
  
Buffy looked down at Faith. A pool of blood had gathered underneath her. She would die without help.  
  
“I am taking Faith with me,” Buffy said to Angel. “Give my people time to pull out from here and I will give you a head start before I come for you.”  
  
“Whatever you say,” Angel laughed and disappeared out into the darkness.  
  
Buffy sat down and swung Faith’s arm around her neck, before helping her on her feet.  
  
“This is a disaster,” Faith coughed.  
  
"You can say that again,” Buffy said. “There are bodies everywhere.”  
  
They staggered towards the walls as fast as Faith was able to move.  
  
“The wizard tricked us,” Faith said. “I knew he would.”  
  
"No use worrying about that now,” Buffy said. “We need to retreat to safety before we are overrun by soldiers or vampires. I am not sure what will come for us first.”  
  
****  
  
Ethan stood on a hilltop, overlooking the chaos with glee. He had won. Angelus was reborn. The military would focus their attention on him now, which meant Ethan was free to resume his plans in peace. The next point on the agenda was to travel to England and pay a surprise visit to old Rupert Giles. It would undoubtedly be a touching reunion.  
  
As he was about to leave, he received a hit to the back of the head from something sharp. The pain was blinding. He fell forward on his knees. The hair at the back of his head was wet with blood. It took a while before he could see clearly again. When he looked up, he saw a short blond girl standing over him. In her hand was a gaudy red shoe. His blood dripped from the tip of the stiletto heel.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled at her.  
  
The girl folded her arms. “I am Vision Girl, dumbass.” She stuck out her tongue at him.  
  
He did not understand it. All the planning. All the time he had spent locked in that facility. It could not end like this.  
  
“You have no idea who you are toying with!” he said.  
  
The girl rolled her eyes. As Ethan was about to stand up, she grabbed his collar. Her strength was surprising. Ethan did not realised what was going on, until he saw the gleam of her fangs. She sank her teeth into his neck and drank deeply. Once his lifeblood was almost spent, she dropped him and let him fall into dust.  
  
“Why?” was all he could say. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
“Sorry, dude. You wanted to play. Don’t complain if you can’t stand the heat.”  
  
“You cannot,” Ethan said. “I am the greatest sorcerer left in the world.”  
  
Harmony snorted. “And we are the nastiest girls from Sunnydale. Deal with it!”  
  
_“Girls?”_  
  
Just as his life was about to leave him, Ethan thought he could see the blurry shape of a second girl standing beside the first one. This girl was taller. Her hair was long and brown. The two girls embraced.  
  
“We did it,” the ghostly girl said. “Go class of ‘99.”  
  
Fin...


End file.
